


Stranded at the Drive-in

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-21
Updated: 2006-07-20
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Couples disappear from an X-rated drive-in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Stranded at the Drive-in   
**Author:** merepersiflage  
**Pairings:** Sam/Dean, Dean/others, briefly—but you know I’m all about the OTP, right?  
**Rating:** 18+  
**Category:** slash  
**Word Count:** 23,000  
**Spoilers:** Through “Bugs” though the note below spoils “Salvation” a bit  
**Summary:** Couples disappear from an X-rated drive-in.  
**Warnings:** Incest, graphic m/m sex, language, mentions of underaged incest  
**Disclaimer:** The boys belong to others, I intend no harm and will make no profit.  
**Notes:** [ ](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/profile)[**la_folle_allure**](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/) did more than midwife this story, she was a co-birth mother. Anything you like in it is probably her idea. Anything you don’t is probably mine. Also, [ ](http://may-burrows.livejournal.com/profile)[**may_burrows**](http://may-burrows.livejournal.com/) held my hand while I panicked while the story’s co-birth mother went on vacation.   
This contains my version of the two-year silence between Sam and Dean and how the Wincestin’ started up again. This Caleb is the one seen for a minute in “Salvation,” and I attempted to explain Dean’s reactions to the mention of that name.  
  
  
  
**Stranded at the Drive-in**  
by merepersiflage  
  
**Part One**  
  
Those three letters were visible a long way away.   
  
“An X-rated drive-in?” Sam was more than his usually pissy self tonight.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Don’t these people have cable for that?”  
  
“Apparently they prefer to go out for it.”  
  
They were close enough now for Sam to read the titles on the marquee. The temperature in the car dropped about thirty degrees.   
  
“A gay porn drive-in?”  
  
“Just on Thursdays. Wednesday it’s Ladies’ Night and on the weekends it’s—”  
  
“I get it. And this is a job? This is not some elaborate plot to—”  
  
“For cryin’ out loud, Sam. If I was that desperate for your ass, I’d tie it to the bed and take it.”  
  
“Like you could.”  
  
“Don’t fuckin’ push me. It’s a job.”  
  
The girl at the ticket window looked a long way past bored, snapping her gum as she took the cash Dean handed her and gave him back two ticket stubs. Dean looked at them in confusion.   
  
“There’s a drawing,” she said around a yawn.  
  
Dean’s mind went to a very scary place as he tried to figure exactly what kind of prizes might be awarded at this kind of drive-in.   
  
“You know, for free popcorn or sodas?” she clarified with a roll of her eyes.   
  
“Oh.” Dean remembered not to wink just in time.   
  
Thirty or so cars were scattered around the thinly grassed and graveled lot. The rows of three-foot tall, white poles reminded Dean of the layout of a cemetery. A hump rounded the grass of each row to tilt the cars toward the screen. Dean pulled into a row near the back where they could keep an eye on things.   
  
After he shut the car off, he glanced over at his brother. Sam was trying to look everywhere but at the three story screen with its giant image of some muscled dude bucking as he rode a guy with a piece of equipment that made Dean both envious and sympathetic. They didn’t have a speaker hooked up and hadn’t bothered tuning the radio to the drive-in’s broadcast, but he could hear that moan clear enough. Maybe Sam had the right idea. It was gonna be a little difficult to concentrate on the job with that going on.   
  
“So three couples in the past three months have been gone missing from here and people are still showing up to this drive-in?” Sam was staring hard at the floorboards.   
  
“What can I say? People like their porn. You want some popcorn?”  
  
“Popcorn? Is this a stake out or a date?”  
  
“Dude, get over yourself. I’m just gonna to have a look ‘round. Keep an eye on the cars.”  
  
Sam had been fuck all touchy ever since that whole misunderstanding with the real estate people in Oklahoma. After the first moment of surprise, Dean had found it funny, and at first he thought Sam had too, but evidently it had raked up the past a little too much for Sammy. Even though Dean hadn’t touched him that way since he’d seen him at Stanford in the fall of his sophomore year.   
  
And since Sam had been hunting with him again, when he even thought about offering him a touch in comfort, or to tend a wound, he remembered what Sam had said that last time and stopped cold.   
  
Yeah, this job was gonna be fun.   
  
When he went to pick up Sam when Dad went missing, he hadn’t really expected to get his old Sam back. Not his sweet hero-worshipping baby brother or awkward pouty-lipped adolescent Sam. And Sam had made it damn clear he wasn’t ever going to get him back the way he’d had him the two years before he left. But he hadn’t expected a Sam who looked like he’d rather kill Dean than half the things they went after.   
  
He knew Jessica’s death had a lot to do with it, that Sam was taking his grief out on a convenient target, but things had gotten worse in the last six months instead of better. Now he had an angry Sam running on zero sleep and less food. After Oklahoma it was like riding with a box of poorly packed nitro.   
  
Dean’s EMF reader picked up something behind the screen but before he could pinpoint it, the reading quit. He stood perfectly still. Listened. Waited.  
  
Nothing. But the hair stood up on the back of his neck.   
  
He checked the concession stand and bathroom on his way back to the car. There was as much moaning coming from one of the bathroom stalls as there was from the screen. Dean couldn’t see what appeal this pit had over a car—even a tiny import with bucket seats—but he shrugged and started back out.   
  
There was a brief interruption in the bathroom’s soundtrack. The stall door cracked open.  
  
“Join us?”  
  
Dean’s lips twisted. “Thanks. Um—I’ve got something warming up in the car.” _Yeah._   
  
He grabbed popcorn and a soda from the empty concession stand and headed back to the car.   
  
“You actually bought popcorn.”  
  
“It’s still a movie, Sam.”  
  
“Yeah. Whatever. What kind of couples disappeared?”  
  
“Kind?”  
  
Sam gave him that pursed-lipped glare he did when he thought Dean was being deliberately obtuse. “Oh, guy/girl, girl/girl, guy/girl.”   
  
“And we’re here tonight . . . ?”  
  
“Because we got here today?”  
  
If possible, Sam seemed more tight-assed than when they had pulled in. Maybe it wasn’t his ass that was feeling tight. Dean looked over.   
  
“Quit looking at my crotch.”  
  
“Why? There somethin’ to see?”  
  
Sam slid down in the seat, arms folded across his chest. “Did you find anything?”  
  
“There’s something going on behind the screen, but the reading faded out.”  
  
“Maybe you just need to find a new station on your _Walkman_.”  
  
“Do you want to _walk back_ to the hotel?”  
  
Sam punched open the door. “I’m gonna take a look around.”  
  
“Fine. Might want to stay out of the bathroom.”  
  
“Try not to get come on the steering wheel when you jerk off. I do drive occasionally.”  
  
Dean would have left the little bitch there, if he didn’t remember they were supposed to be working a job. As if he would ever abuse his car like that. Jerk off in it maybe, but only onto napkins. Never the steering wheel.   
  
The second feature was starting by the time Sam got back to the car. Several cars had departed during intermission, flashing their taillights as they disappeared into the darkness. And no wonder, Dean thought as he watched the opening of the movie. God, he hated it when porn tried to have a plot.   
  
“Find anything?”   
  
“No, and all the cars still have people in them.”  
  
“You looked?”   
  
“It’s a job, remember?” Sam crunched on some popcorn.   
  
“Oh, by the way, I didn’t want to mess up the steering wheel, so I jerked off into the popcorn bucket.”  
  
Sam choked. “I am so going to kill you.”  
  
“Jesus, lighten up, will ya? Besides, don’t tell me you don’t remember the taste.”  
  
There was no warning. Sam just launched himself across the car, fist headed for Dean’s head. Dean ducked and head butted him in the ribs.   
  
Sam’s wind left him in a rush that blew over Dean’s head, but the brat still managed to get a grip on the back of Dean’s shirt and tried hauling him up.   
  
Dean twisted free and lifted his head to try to clip his brother’s chin. Sam anticipated it, but Dean still managed to bump his cheek.   
  
“Ow.”  
  
Sam took the only target Dean had provided and landed a couple blows on his back until Dean reached up and grabbed his throat. “What the hell, Sam?”  
  
Sam stopped swinging. Dean released him, and Sam flung himself up against the passenger door.   
  
“Freaking jerk.”  
  
“Wow. That’s impressive. You went to college and that’s the best you can come up with?” Dean looked back over the cars, watching. They were down to five plus them.   
  
“You think anything’s gonna happen tonight?” Sam still sounded a little winded.  
  
“Coulda been the goddamn demon parade two minutes ago and we’d have missed it.”  
  
“Not gonna catch much if we keep fighting.”  
  
“Well, that’s just brilliant, college boy. What do you suppose we should do to catch something?”  
  
“I guess we could be bait.”   
  
The light from the flickering screen showed the flush on Sam’s cheeks, and he was still panting from that scuffle—or from—shit, was Sam leaning closer?   
  
“Ah, what the hell you doin’, Sam?”  
  
“Working.”   
  
Dean pressed himself backward. “Um, on what?” Maybe there was a succubus or incubus involved. Maybe Sam was possessed. Because why else would his that’s-never-going-to-happen-again brother be leaning that close to his lips?  
  
“Whatever it is goes after couples making out at this drive-in. So . . . “  
  
“You just tried to punch my lights out for joking about it. Now you want to—”  
  
“Be bait. It’s just a job, Dean.”  
  
“Right, a job.”  
  
He was all the way against the door, and Sam was still coming closer. He couldn’t. He couldn’t touch Sam like that, because his body wouldn’t know it was a lie. Sam would know, too, the second he touched him, that Dean had never stopped hoping things would go back to the way they were before, and he’d rather just get out of the car before he had to hear Sam’s voice get that cold and nasty again.   
  
Dean reached behind him for the door handle. Sam’s hand landed on his. “Where are you going?”  
  
“Uh—to take a leak?”  
  
“You haven’t had that much soda.”  
  
“You the boss of my bladder, now?”  
  
Sam’s eyes closed just before he came that final inch and pressed his lips to Dean’s. Dean kept his mouth closed, his lips firm, and tried to think unsexy thoughts. Root canals, hitting his thumb with a hammer, his ninety-year-old chemistry teacher. But he could smell Sam, breathe Sam, and if he’d just open his mouth a little he would taste Sam. He pushed down the door handle and was perfectly happy to fall out on his ass if it got him away from six and a half feet of temptation.   
  
“Be right back.”  
  
There was a particularly loud moan from the speakers, and Dean scrambled to his feet, trying not to think of how close he had been to moaning and opening his mouth to Sam. He did not look at the screen; his dick did not need any more encouragement.   
  
He moved far away from the concession stand and let his eyes adjust to the dark. Now would be a good time to find something to kill to get his mind off what the hell had just almost happened. Hunting was way less confusing. He scoped out the lot.  
  
There was something a little off about one of the cars on the far left. It was the only one with clear windows. Everyone else’s were fogged in the early morning chill.   
  
Dean crept toward it. _Watch me get arrested for voyeurism—at a fucking gay porn drive-in. That’ll make Dad proud._ He saw a pair of boots and sneakers outside the car, and almost turned back. If there were any other clothes out there . . . He crouched down and peered in the back window. Empty. Totally empty. No clothes. No bodies. No blood. Nothing. He pulled out his EMF and got a sudden flash that faded quickly. Maybe it was interference from the radio broadcasting the soundtrack.   
  
He checked around the concession stand and bathroom before heading back to the Impala. Sam had dumped the popcorn out of the car, and was lying across the back seat, head on the bench, feet out the open window.  
  
“Way to have my back, bro.”  
  
“While you were taking a leak? And aren’t you always grandma-ing me about not getting any sleep?”  
  
“There’s an empty car.”  
  
“Maybe they just went to the bathroom.”  
  
“I checked.”  
  
“Now what?”   
  
Did he really have to look up at Dean like that?   
  
_“Fuck me harder.”_ The emphatic suggestion from one of the guys on screen made Dean turn his head to hide a blush. “I don’t know. If they’re already gone, I don’t know what to do about it now. We can check around tomorrow. Maybe they are just off in the bushes somewhere.” Barefoot? Well, it wasn’t as if he’d never done anything stupid while thinking with his dick.  
  
“Yeah, cars can get a little cramped.” Sam stuck his legs farther out of the window as an example.   
  
Dean remembered the few times they’d snuck into the car before Sam left, times when they couldn’t find any other place to be alone. The tight positions had only seemed to make everything more intense.   
  
What the fuck was Sam doing?  
  
_“That’s it. Tighten that ass. Take it all, baby.”_ The plot portion of the movie had clearly come to an end.   
  
Dean climbed in the front seat and sat with his spine rigid. He shut his eyes, but the moan punctuated dialogue continued.   
  
_“You like my fat cock in your ass, don’t you?”_  
  
“What about my plan?” Sam’s voice was right in his ear, and Dean jumped.   
  
“What plan?”  
  
“To be bait.”  
  
“It’s never taken two couples in one night.”  
  
“But what if they’re just in the bushes?”  
  
Did Sam really want to make out? What the hell? He was used to Sam’s pig-headedness, but he hadn’t turned it on this particular subject for a long time.   
  
He turned, and Sam’s mouth was right there. It was only a quick brush of lips, but both their mouths were open. More than enough to send a buzz along Dean’s nerves. He jerked back and hit a rib on the steering wheel.  
  
“Ow. Fuck.”  
  
_“Come now, yeah, come in my ass.”_  
  
Dean reached for the keys. Sam’s hand came down on his shoulder. “Don’t you like my plan?”  
  
If he was screwing with him, he was going to take his brother’s fucking head off. “What do you want, Sam?”  
  
_“Now, suck me. Harder.”_  
  
He couldn’t take the soundtrack anymore. He pulled away from Sam’s hand and rolled up the windows. The dialogue at least, became indistinct.   
  
He turned back to his brother more slowly, careful to keep his head out of reach.  
  
“What’s going on, Sam?”  
  
“A job?”   
  
“Fine. Well, job’s over for tonight.” Dean turned back and started the car.  
  
“Dean.” Sam’s hand was on his shoulder again, close to his neck.   
  
Dean froze.   
  
Sam’s thumb rubbed beneath his ear. It took every bit of Dean’s control not to shiver from that touch.   
  
“I miss you.”   
  
He couldn’t do this. If he turned and there was a laugh on Sam’s face, he’d kill him. If they went back to being well, what they’d been and Sam left him again, he’d die. His hand hesitated over the gear stick.   
  
Sam climbed over his back and twisted the key. The engine went silent. Sam dropped back behind him.   
  
“Please, Dean.”  
  
And of course he’d never been good at saying no to Sammy, even when he couldn’t see those puppy eyes. Maybe he could live through it if the seat stayed between him. Then his body couldn’t give away its stupid, pointless, desperate hunger for his brother’s skin.   
  
He could just kiss him. That’s all. Yeah, right. And he could just eat one Dorito once the bag was opened, too. He looked up at the screen and that was a big mistake. Because the guy giving a blow job had nothing on Sam. Not a deep enough hollow of cheeks, the lips not dark enough, full enough, and no way did he have Sam’s sexy lashed half-lidded look. Fuck no. And remembering how his brother looked when he was sucking him off was the last fucking straw.   
  
He spun and grabbed Sam by the shoulders, yanked him to his mouth. Maybe it was impossible to feed two and a half years’ starvation with one kiss, but Dean was sure as hell going to try. Sam met him there, sucked his tongue in deeper and wrapped it with his. The moan came up between them, so deep inside it was impossible to tell who began it. The vibration went all the way down through Dean’s bones.   
  
Sam’s grip shifted to the back of his head, pressing him closer. They were sliding inside each other, sharing a breath. Dean could taste that Sam had been drinking his soda. Probably downed it all like usual, the little shit. Sam’s kiss was better than all those his dreams had been feeding him, real, hot, wet. When their air ran out, Sam gave that high little sigh he made.   
  
Then his voice dipped back to its usual resonance. “Damn. Why’d we stop doing this?”  
  
Dean shoved him away, slamming him back against the seat.   
  
“What?” Sam had the balls to look hurt.  
  
“That’s rich, little brother.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I believe your exact words were ‘I’m done with all of it. You’re not going to keep me from my chance at being normal, so stop trying to drag me back into it by my dick.’ Of course, I also remember that you waited until after I had blown your brains out—twice—before telling me this.”  
  
At least Sam could still blush, hard enough to make out against his bronzed skin in the dark. He dropped his eyes. “Oh, that.”  
  
“That? Fucking hell, Sam.” He turned back around and slumped in his seat.   
  
“I—it was weird, seeing you at college.”  
  
“I’d been there before.”  
  
“Yeah. But—”  
  
“You didn’t need me anymore. You had friends by then. Were you with Jessica?’  
  
“No, we hadn’t even met yet. Dean, it wasn’t like that. You know—”  
  
“What the hell do I know? You cut me off, kiddo. No calls, nothing. And now, you’re lonely and I’m here. Well, fuck that.”  
  
“Dean.” Sam reached for his shoulders again, and Dean shrugged him off.   
  
Sam leaned forward, close to his ear, but not touching him. Dean knew he could put an end to the whole stupid conversation with a nice elbow to Sam’s nose. Not hard enough to break it, just enough to shut him up. But half of him wanted to hear just how Mr. Future Lawyer was going to wiggle out of this one.   
  
“If that was all I wanted, I could pick up a girl. You’ve done it.”   
  
Dean’s lips twisted. He thought Sam hadn’t noticed the times he’d disappeared from the bar for an hour. Sam had been so engrossed in his laptop he figured he’d never even looked up.  
  
“So why don’t you?”   
  
“Because I don’t just want a little touch. I want—I want what we had before.”  
  
“And that’s why you took a swing at me?”   
  
“Yeah, well, you still piss me off sometimes.”   
  
Dean finally turned to look at him. “I don’t know, Sam.” And he didn’t. He knew what his dick wanted, hell what every inch of his skin wanted, but Sam, who knew what he wanted? Fuck, even Sam probably never knew what he wanted. And thinking and talking never solved anything. Dean opened his door.   
  
“Come on, Dean. Don’t—”  
  
He jerked open the back door. “Shove over.”  
  
Sam’s grin was as irritating as it was inviting.   
  
“Don’t get cocky, you son of a bitch. Maybe I’m just horny.”  
  
“God, I know I am.”  
  
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Until Sam finally said, “So.”  
  
“So what?”  
  
“Man, why do you have to make everything so difficult?”  
  
“I’m not making anything difficult. I’m not making anything. You wanted to be bait. So. . .” he slumped in the seat, letting his legs flop apart. “Bait me.”  
  
“You’re a total jackass, you know that?”  
  
“Thanks. Is this part of your usual come on, because I gotta tell you, Sam, with lines like that I’m surprised you got anything in college, let alone a girl like Jessica.”  
  
Sam shoved himself against the other door. “Thanks very much for that mood killer.”  
  
“Horny has moods now? You are or you aren’t. You wanna do this or you don’t.”  
  
“I can’t do this.” And the wave of Sam’s hand as he indicated the car and Dean was so dismissive, Dean felt a little sick. “If I’m thinking about her.”   
  
Dean really hadn’t known what to expect when he’d climbed into the back seat, but a couple of quick punches to the gut wasn’t high on his list.  
  
He forced a smirk to his lips. “What, didn’t think of your very first blow job the first time she wrapped her lips around you? How quickly we forget.”  
  
“Shut up, Dean.”  
  
“Why? Gonna take another swing at me? I don’t know what the fuck your issue is tonight, Sam, but work it the fuck out on your own before you drag me in again.” He reached for the door handle.   
  
“Wait.” Sam grabbed his arm again.  
  
“I think I’ve been waiting enough.”  
  
“What do you want from me?”  
  
“I don’t want anything from you.” Liar! his soul whispered as his body screamed. “You wanted this, here I am.”  
  
“So what’s the problem.”  
  
“You’re the one with the problem, Sam. I climbed back here to get off, not angst over it like some chick who doesn’t go past second.”  
  
“I know. It’s just—I didn’t think it would be this awkward, you know? I mean you kissed me.”  
  
“Yeah. I was there. And?”  
  
“I thought we could just . . .”  
  
“Pick up where we left off? I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy, Sammy. You were gone for four fucking years.”   
  
“I know that, Dean.”  
  
“Do you? ‘Cause I think you sometimes like to forget how you walked out on us.”  
  
“Me and you?”  
  
“Don’t be a girl, Sam. Me and Dad.”  
  
“It wasn’t like that.”  
  
“How was it, then? You only seem to remember what you want to remember. So tell me, how was it?”  
  
It had been the most terrifying, miserable, confusing time in Sam’s life. He’d wanted it so bad, but he’d wanted to take Dean with him—had tried in so many ways to convince him, but then like now, his brother had turned into stone. Unmoving, unemotional, un-fucking-breakable stone.   
  
Hell, Dean had told him to have fun, do great, a slap on the back and a where can I drop you. Nothing more than if they’d been casual acquaintances instead of brothers and lovers. Nothing but a hard line of jaw and a little tightness around the eyes.   
  
It was the same expression he was wearing now. If Dean would unbend just a little, touch him, kiss him, he knew the stone would melt into fire and Sam would be able to bury this ache that had been building since Oklahoma in his brother’s welcoming body.  
  
But that was a lie. That feeling had been building for far longer. That little joke, the slap on the ass, that had only pushed the need in the open. He’d been aching for Dean since he’d knocked him down in his apartment.   
  
When Constance had told him he’d be unfaithful, all he could think of was Dean. It still felt disloyal, like a betrayal of Jess, and maybe that was the reason his desire was so messed up with anger. Dean had been there first, always first, in everything but the one thing he’d never let them do.   
  
The thing that was smacking him in the face from the giant screen. As many times as they’d made each other come those years, they’d never fucked.   
  
Sam hadn’t been a virgin for Jess; she hadn’t for him. And despite trying a few guys his freshman year to figure out if he was bi or just obsessed with Dean, he still was in that respect a virgin.   
  
He looked away from the screen, but couldn’t look at Dean. Any second Jess had slipped from his mind these past months, Dean was there, pushing his was back into his life, filling it so much there wasn’t room for anything else. After that careless touch in Oklahoma, barely sexual, he felt like he’d been half hard around his brother, waiting for the moment to do something about it.  
  
Dean was still waiting for his answer. _How was it then?_  
  
“It was something I had to do. You should have done it, too.”  
  
“What, walk out on my family?”  
  
“It’s called growing up, Dean. You’re the only one who thinks what’s normal for everybody else is some sort of betrayal.”  
  
“Normal. We’re back to that are we? What do ya call macking on your brother, then?”  
  
Dean had him there. He gave a rueful grin. “Us?”  
  
“We’re done here.” Dean made a disgusted snort and opened the door to climb up front. “So, you riding back there or you coming up front?”   
  
“Apparently I’m not coming at all.” Sam muttered almost to himself as he opened the door.   
  
Dean laughed, but it had a brittle sound. “Wow. Did you just make a dirty joke? There may be hope for you yet.”  
  
Sam dropped in next to him and looked at the few remaining cars.   
  
“There’s nothing left to do here tonight. We’ll see what we can dig up tomorrow.”  
  
“Dean—”  
  
“Sam. You asked. I answered.”  
  
“Fine.” He wouldn’t beg. Not again. After all, he was the one who had pushed Dean out of his life that last time.   
  
* * *  
  
The dorms were usually quiet on Sunday nights—this one even more so since lots of students had gone home for Yom Kippur—including Sam’s roommate, Eli. So the peremptory knock on his door might have startled him if he wasn’t expecting it. But he knew who’d be standing there even before he opened the door. His brother’d never had any trouble reading a calendar, and he knew Eli was Jewish, though Sam’d never told him.   
  
The lock wouldn’t really matter if Dean wanted in, but Sam took a long breath before popping the lock. He knew what would happen as soon as he opened the door and he was going to need that extra oxygen.   
  
Dean’s hands were fisted in his pockets as if that was the only way he could keep from yanking Sam out to join him in the hall. His expressive lips parted on almost a smile.  
  
Sam didn’t bother asking _What do you want?_ It would have been a waste of air. He locked the door behind Dean and a rush of arousal sent him spinning as Dean grabbed him and pulled him onto the narrow bed.   
  
“Sammy.” A breath in his ear, hands over every inch of him, like Dean was looking for something, some sign he could read on Sam’s body. He couldn’t be looking for new injuries; that was all behind Sam. An occasional tweaked muscle from working out was the worst Sam faced these days.  
  
The first time was always like this, barely moving clothes out of the way. No words: grunts, gasps and grips tight enough to bruise. Not even a kiss, just the hard press of bodies lost in a hunger for hot skin on skin. The rub of Dean’s cock on his always made him come too fast, just like the kid he’d been that first time. Before Sam even stopped shuddering, Dean had shifted up to ride the groove above his hip, a sensation as familiar as the name that spilled from Dean’s lips over and over until he came, bathing their bellies in a long splash of heat.  
  
There was still nothing said. Nothing to say. Dean was alive and okay, and so was Dad, or Dean would have said something. So they just lay in a tangle of limbs, clothes, sweat and come, nothing but pounding hearts and quick hard breaths.   
  
When it got to be too uncomfortable, a cramped calf, freezing ribs, Sam wiggled under Dean. Dean rolled off, just to his side, any farther and he’d have hit the floor.   
  
“What is it with these beds, dude? Don’t you hang off the edge?”  
  
“No more than any other bed.” They had this conversation every time Dean came to see him. He had to show his disdain for the life Sam had chosen. Next Dean would say:  
  
“What do they soak people for to live in these little boxes?”  
  
And Sam would get defensive. “Because sleazy motels offer so much more.”  
  
“At least I can stretch out.”  
  
“Now that you don’t have to share with me.”  
  
“Dude, I didn’t—”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Sam climbed around Dean and shucked his clothes, rubbing the come off with a towel before throwing it at Dean.  
  
Dean knocked it to the bed as he stood to peel off his own clothes, and Sam sucked in his breath at the sight of his right shoulder purpled with bruises.   
  
“Poltergeist. Violent motherfucker.”  
  
“Could you maybe try to land on your left? How can you even shoot like that?”  
  
“Same as always. And I land the way they throw me. It’s not like I go in planning to get knocked on my ass.”  
  
“But you always do.”  
  
“It’d be easier if someone else was watching my back.”  
  
Sam sat back on his bed. “I thought Dad was. You know, world’s best hunter and all that.”  
  
“Usually, I’m watching his.”  
  
“And who’d watch mine?”  
  
“Me. You know I’d never let anything hurt you, Sammy.”  
  
“I know.” And he never would. Dean was gonna die protecting one of them and damned if he was going to die for Sam.  
  
Dean yanked open Eli’s little fridge. Sam tried hard not to stare at that narrow ass as Dean bent over to peer inside.   
  
“No beer? What did ya do with those fake ID’s you left with?”  
  
“Still got’em. Have a Coke, Dean.”  
  
Dean tugged out a can and popped the lid. Sam let himself watch the perfect line of his brother’s nude body as he tipped it to his lips and guzzled.   
  
“Want any?” Dean wiped his lips. “Nah, I’ll never get it back, ya soda hog. Here.”  
  
He bent again, and Sam pursed his lips. God, he wished they’d crossed that line, even just once. Now that he knew how absolutely fucking amazing it was to actually be inside someone else’s body, he wanted to know what it would have felt like to be in Dean’s. To have Dean in him. But now with all the distance between them it felt impossible to ask, as if just asking would sever their tenuous connection.   
  
Dean straightened up and tossed him a can.  
  
“Funny. Like I’d open that now.” He pushed off the bed and grabbed the can from Dean, the challenge bringing everything back to comfortable. No emotions, no discussions, just a stupid fight about everything and nothing. Dean locked his other hand on Sam’s wrist and dragged Sam’s hand on the can up with him as he brought the can to his mouth.   
  
Sam dug a finger in Dean’s ribs, winning possession of the can and a face full of soda and spit at the same time.  
  
Dean burst out laughing. “Smooth one, Sammy.”  
  
Sam finished the can and hooked a leg behind Dean’s knocking them both to the floor. He pinned his brother with hips, entwined legs, and a forearm across the shoulders, careful to keep off the bruise. “Lick it off.”  
  
“Make me, bitch.” Dean’s hips shifted and he lunged up with his arm, the arm Sam had been counting off limits because of the signs of another separation.   
  
Just like that, Sam was on his back, head under his desk. Damn, he really ought to dust or something. That was gross. And then Dean was on his mouth, licking soda off his lips with a cold, wet tongue.  
  
Sam squirmed, but he really didn’t want to get up anymore. Dean’s tongue and mouth were taking a lot of the fight out of him. That and the fact that the minute Dean’s mouth had closed over his he’d gotten hard enough to cut diamonds.   
  
He kissed him back, chasing the caramel flavor from the soda to every part of Dean’s mouth. Dean never let go of his wrists, just moved to anchor them above his head, latching them together in one grip.   
  
Dean pressed harder on Sam’s wrists as he leaned up to lick the drops on Sam’s cheeks, puff a laugh against his sticky hair.   
  
“Just wait ‘till you’re asleep,” Sam warned.  
  
“You’re gonna be too tired to do anything by then, Sammy.” His voice held the kind of promise that had waitresses all over America forgetting to add Dean’s order to the check, just for a chance to have him thank them with that fuck-you-later wink.   
  
Dean moved to nibble at Sam’s jaw, then straightened and studied him.  
  
“No hickeys? Been a good boy or can’t you find anyone to do you right?”  
  
“I did come here for an education.” Shit, it was hard to sound superior when his brother’s mouth was making him pant.  
  
“Gonna have to fix that.” But whether he was talking about the lack of hickeys or Sam’s desire for an education was unclear until Dean bit down on the side of his neck.   
  
The sweet pain lit up nerves inside him that went straight to his already electrified dick. He bucked up and Dean pressed his arms into the floor.   
  
“You’re gonna make me hit my head.” Dean’s chin jerked up to indicate the desk over them. “Told you these rooms were damned small.”  
  
“You gonna talk or—“  
  
Sam forgot the rest of that under the force of Dean’s wet-lipped smile. The smile the went with that wink, that went with that voice that got girls wet and guys hard and Sam fucking desperate.  
  
“C’mon, Dean.”  
  
“You really have been living like a monk, haven’t you?” Dean ground his hips against Sam’s. “You do know you just came, huh, Father Sam?”   
  
“Shut up, Dean.”  
  
Sam tried to free his wrists, but his heart wasn’t in it. He really just wanted Dean to tongue his way down his body and suck him off. Now. Right the fuck now, if you please.   
  
Dean bent and kissed him again, biting at his lips, and Sam felt his brother’s dick rise against his own.   
  
“Who just came?”  
  
Dean groaned and nipped harder before licking away the pain. He kissed Sam again, a stinging buzz on his lips.   
  
“Fuck, Dean. C’mon.” He begged against Dean’s mouth.   
  
Dean nuzzled under his ear, wet and sharp.   
  
“What do you want, Sam?”  
  
“Your mouth.”  
  
“Like this?”   
  
A long slow kiss. Deep fucks with his tongue.  
  
Sam tried again to push out of Dean’s grip, but his muscles, his brain, they just weren’t getting much blood.   
  
“Then what do you want, Sammy?”  
  
“Damn it, blow me. C’mon.”  
  
Dean smiled and rolled up, releasing Sam’s wrists.   
  
Dean’s hands stroked Sam’s sides, as his tongue laid a hot wet line down Sam’s sternum before circling his navel.   
  
Sam shot up so fast when Dean’s tongue darted into his bellybutton that he cracked his head on the desk.   
  
“C’mere.” Dean yanked on his ankles. “Let’s move, you giant freak. Shit, Sammy, I swear you grew another inch.”  
  
“I did.” Sam’s legs weren’t too steady so he crawled up to sit on the edge of his bed. Dean knelt on the floor between his wobbly legs and that was just oh-fuck perfect: Dean looking up at him while his mouth slid down on Sam’s dick.  
  
Goddamn! Sam flopped back. Dean was no longer the only person who’d had Sam’s dick in his mouth, but fuck did he know what to do with it when he got it there.  
  
Dean rolled his tongue over the head, took him deep and Sam couldn’t remember anything but _Dean, god, yes._  
  
He’d missed this. Fucking hell, he’d missed this. No body knew just what to lick and suck on him like Dean. Nobody went down on him with that perfect right-now-there’s-nothing-else intensity of Dean. He managed to get his elbows under him to prop him high enough to watch Dean’s face.   
  
His eyes were closed as his lips sealed around him, pulling on him hard while his tongue worked the head. Sam fought to keep his own eyes open. “Ughhnn. Dean, I’m gonna—”  
  
Dean’s lids slipped up a fraction, framing those gone-dark eyes with his lashes and Sam felt his hips jerk once before it all burst out of him and flooded into Dean’s mouth. He watched his brother’s throat work on him, swallow his come, and that brought another spasm twisting through him. And he knew he’d yelled, shattering the silence of the Sunday night dorm. Well, his dormmates should be so lucky.  
  
He collapsed on the bed, his chest heaving so hard he thought he’d break a fucking rib.   
  
“Dean.”  
  
“Yeah, Sammy?”  
  
Sam tried to raise his head, but it made him dizzy and he fell back on the bed. “Fuck.”  
  
“Hmmm.” Dean kissed the inside of his thigh. “Told ya you’d be too tired to mess with me.”  
  
“Gimme a minute.”   
  
But the next thing he knew, Dean was shifting off the bed. Sam’s legs were tucked under the blankets, and the warmth next to him meant Dean had been lying beside him.   
  
He blinked. Dean stood and wrapped a towel around his hips.   
  
“This isn’t a coed floor, is it? Don’t want to give any college girls a heart attack.”  
  
Sam shook himself awake. “Nah, but you might give Marcus down the hall some palpitations.”  
  
“And you know this because . . .?”  
  
Sam shrugged. He really didn’t know much about Marcus, except that he had a Playgirl style calendar over his desk. In the year he’d been in the dorm, Sam hadn’t seen a model in it yet that looked half as good as Dean. But right now, Dean looked pretty pissed, and it was a stupid thing to fight over. “It’s just a guess, okay?”  
  
Dean made that grunt of assent that sounded more like a wolf with bronchitis.   
  
He grabbed Sam’s shampoo, soap and razor and put his hand on the door. “Sorry I woke you up.”  
  
“No, I’m good.” He sat up. “Can you find it?”  
  
“Yeah, I think I can handle finding the bathroom. Why? Thinking of saving the college a little on their water bill?” Dean arched a brow.   
  
Sam weighed the idea of getting caught in the shower with Dean against getting off in the shower with Dean. He checked his watch. One A. M. on a Monday. He looked at his brother again. “Maybe.”  
  
Dean shrugged and disappeared through the door.   
  
Sam scrambled up and followed. He was about to fool around with his brother in the dorm showers. Oh yeah, he was really nailing this whole _normal_ thing.   
  
Dean was in the last stall of the empty bathroom. The sounds of rushing water drumming on his skin echoed off the tiles as the steam awakened the ancient mold smells buried in the grout.   
  
Sam threw his towel over the stall frame by way of warning, and Dean yanked open the door to greet him. His hair was sudsy, soap bubbles lingered in the hard edges of his chest muscles. Sam leaned in and popped a bubble right over his nipple. Dean flinched, though Sam hadn’t even touched his skin.   
  
He stepped back so Sam could fit in under the spray, although Sam had to duck his head to keep from hitting the nozzle. The showers had been designed for midgets. Dean passed him soap. Sam grinned and soaped up Dean instead of himself, rubbing slick hands over every perfect muscle of his chest. Dean’s head fell back as he let Sam’s hands work the soap through the dips and plateaus, gentle on the bruises, harder along his flanks, fingers finally shifting around to knead at the tight muscles along his spine.  
  
With a groan soft enough to stay hidden under the thrum of water, Dean turned to allow Sam better access to his back. Sam stroked, hands, knuckles, fingers rubbing away sweat and aches.  
  
“There’s a career for ya, Sammy,” Dean purred. “Massage therapist.”  
  
“No thanks.” He worked at the base of Dean’s neck. “I don’t really want to play touchy feely all day.”  
  
“But you’re so good at it.”  
  
“There’s other things you think I’m good at. Want me to get money for them, too?”   
  
“I’ll break your neck first.”  
  
Sam reached down and soaped Dean’s scrotum, his cock, feeling the blood start to thicken the flesh as he pulled with soapy fingers.  
  
Sam tried not to think of suggestive the position was: Dean’s back to his front. But Dean’s dick was sliding through his slick fist, Sam’s own swelling cock just at the small of Dean’s back, the crease of his ass cradling the base. And all Sam could think of was close they were, how near to being inside each other. A little shifting and—but at that moment, he wanted Dean in him far more than he wanted to press into his brother.   
  
He released Dean’s cock and handed off the soap. Dean’s protest was garbled by a mouthful of water as Sam turned him.   
  
“Let’s see how your skills match up.” He offered his back to Dean.   
  
Dean’s hands slid everywhere, holding and stroking, fingers teasing, palms pressing. Dean pulled Sam back against his chest. They glided against each other on the warm glaze of soap, slick as the oiled click of Dean cocking his favorite shotgun. Dean dragged his thumbs up and across Sam’s nipples. Before he could even gasp, Dean’s hands were teasing his balls. Sam’s hips jerked forward, and Dean gave him his fist to fuck.  
  
Sam shifted now, up and down. Just a bit more and Dean would be right up against—  
  
Dean’s hips jerked away, his hands on Sam’s hips holding him forward.   
  
“No.” Dean’s voice was quiet, but it still vibrated against Sam’s ear. He sounded angry.  
  
“I’m not sixteen anymore.”   
  
Dean waved at the shower’s walls, as if to suggest the location was too public.   
  
“We can go back to my room.”   
  
“No.”  
  
And in a flash of insight Sam knew everything Dean wasn’t saying. It was a moment when everything was unalterably clear, and Sam hadn’t felt so miserable since the bus stop and Dean had faded from view. They should have had a clean break then, but they’d kept it going through Dean’s infrequent trips to Palo Alto. The longer they kept this up, the worse the eventual end would be.   
  
Dean was never going to stop hunting. Sam was never going to go back to it. Sooner or later, they were going to hit that realization hard enough to rip a giant hole in each other. The more they kept feeding this connection, the harder it was going to be to sever it. It may already be stretched so thin that if they weren’t getting each other off they were fighting, but that connection’s roots went so deep it was going to tear out a piece of their souls when it went. The only thing to do was to try to keep it from going deeper and make the break as clean as possible.   
  
Dean started to drop to his knees, and Sam knew something else. Dean would never stop giving in to him, never stop coming to him as long as he thought Sam needed him as much as Dean needed Sam. Even as he stopped Dean with in a tight hug, he realized that this would have to be the last time.   
  
Neither of them was ever going to change. Since Dean wouldn’t stop coming to see him, Sam would have to make him want to.   
  
Then this was the last time. The last time he’d ever have Dean like this. He dragged a kiss from them both, could feel in Dean’s hot, desperate mouth that Dean knew it, too.  
  
Sam dropped down, the overspill of emotion needing some kind of physical outlet. He angled Dean’s hips into the water, rinsing away the soap. Then the water was pounding on his neck as he licked the water from Dean’s clean skin. He drank it from his navel, from the hollow below, the tops of his hip bones.   
  
His hands stroked the inside of Dean’s thighs, scratching lightly with his nails. “Sammy—”  
  
He mouthed his balls gently, sliding his hands around to Dean’s ass. Above him, he felt his brother start to sway.   
  
Sam was curled up on the floor; there was no room down here if Dean decided to join him, but Dean only bent forward and braced his hands against the opposite wall, palms smacking the tiles with a thick sound.   
  
He gave Dean’s dick long popsicle licks, circling the crown like a special treat, teasing the ridge, flicking the tender spot underneath. Even through the rush of water, he could hear Dean’s breathing change above him, hear the effect of every little movement of his tongue. Heard it, felt it in the shudder of muscles under his hands, the jerk of hips that was quickly stilled.   
  
He drew on the tip for a minute, then pulled off to murmur, “It’s all right.”  
  
“God, Sammy, please don’t stop.” And then, “What?”  
  
“It’s all right.” Another long lick, a press on the slit with the flat of his tongue.   
  
“Ughnn. What?”  
  
“It’s all right if you want to fuck my mouth.”  
  
“Jesus.”  
  
Sam rounded his lips over his teeth and swallowed the head. It was as if Dean had been waiting forever for that permission. His hips snapped forward again and again, bruising Sam’s lips, slamming the thick head to the back of his throat.  
  
_Yes,_ he would have told him if his mouth weren’t full of his cock. _Take it for once in your life. Take what you want, what I want to give you. Just take it._  
  
It was a brutal onslaught, the building ache in his jaw, fighting his gag reflex, fighting for breath, but he could feel his own dick rising against his stomach as he fed off Dean’s loss of control. Dean was finally fucking him, a ragged, tearing sound coming from his lips, broken words.  
  
“So good . . . can’t . . . sorry . . . God, sorry . . . Sammy . . .”   
  
Just when he thought he’d have to pull away, that he couldn’t take the pressure splitting his jaw anymore, he felt Dean’s ass tense under his hands, knew he was going to come. Part of him wanted to watch Dean shoot, to see him splatter white come against the blue tiles, but stronger than that was the need to taste him, to drink him down this last time, knowing how much Dean loved coming down his throat.   
  
Dean burst in his mouth: salt, bitter, hot, perfect. Dean. He sucked him through it, lapped the softening skin, held him in his mouth until Dean pulled away, with a cry as bitter and sweet as his come.   
  
“Jesus. Your mouth, your mouth.” Dean’s thumb rubbed over his sore lips. “Fucking hell, Sammy. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
With one last press of his thumb on Sam’s swollen lips, Dean straightened up. Sam picked himself off the floor, and Dean steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“As soon as we get back to your room,” Dean’s voice was light, like he was just starting one of his could-Batman-take-Spiderman-in-a-fight conversations. “I am gonna make you come so hard you’ll see stars.”  
  
“Like you just did?”  
  
“Maybe.” Dean planted a soft kiss on Sam’s burning lips.   
  
It was on the tip of Sam’s aching tongue to say _I’ll have to do better next time_ and then he remembered. There wasn’t going to be a next time. Tomorrow Dean would be gone, and this time he wouldn’t be coming back the next time Eli went home for a holiday.   
  
Back on Sam’s narrow bed, Dean made good on his promise. His fingers worked Sam’s cock, hard pulls, twists, the press of his thumb on the leaking head. His mouth kept time with his strokes, deep kisses, nibbles, bites, flicks on nipples, ears, jaws. Dean’s finger hooked just perfectly under the ridge of his crown. Sam felt as if the next touch might be enough to push him over the edge, but Dean kept stopping just in time to leave Sam gasping, hanging, desperate to come.   
  
Dean kept him waiting, as if prolonging this could fix it, fix them somehow. In those moments when Sam didn’t have to come so bad he felt like his body was about to go into seizures, he wanted Dean to keep on touching him, keep touching him so that later, Sam wouldn’t be able to move any part of his body without thinking of Dean’s mouth or hands on it.  
  
“Gonna see stars?” Dean murmured against his neck.   
  
“Yesssss.” The word disappeared in a hiss as Dean paired quick hard strokes with a deep bite on his shoulder.  
  
Sam bucked into his fist, and Dean’s teeth released his skin as his brother licked it whispering, “Please, Sammy. Wait for my mouth.”  
  
_Jesus_  
  
The words alone were just almost, god, almost enough to send him over the edge. Dean dove down, his hand and mouth working together, a perfect constant sensation of hot, wet pressure, slide, suck— _Holy fucking god_. The explosion built in him one last time, rearing up inside him like something separate from his body, a piece of him that was trying to rush out and he swore to god Dean was sucking his fucking soul out through his dick. Sam came, heat and sparks that went on forever. The stars were black, red, purple, white, bursting behind tightly squeezed eyelids.   
  
Dean lay on his belly, an irritatingly superior chuckle rumbling against him.   
  
“Stars?”  
  
“Bite me.”  
  
“Did already.” Dean pressed a finger on the swelling bruise, and Sam felt it tingle with nothing like the pain he should be feeling.   
  
“Fuck you.” It was barely a murmur and completely lacking heat. Dean was unimpressed.  
  
“College has had a terrible effect on your vocabulary, bro.”  
  
“Fuck you to hell and back.”  
  
“Might be fun. Not much better. Where’s your creativity?”  
  
“Cocksucker.”  
  
“Yeah, but I’m so good at it.” Dean smacked his lips and nipped Sam’s belly.   
  
Sam felt himself start to drift off to sleep as Dean crawled up his body to settle against his neck.  
  
“So. How long you got left here?”  
  
“It’s not a prison, Dean.”  
  
“Yeah, in jail at least they don’t make you go to class. So you in some kind of accelerated program or something, you geek?”  
  
“No. Just the usual.”  
  
“So how long?”  
  
“I don’t know. I might want to go to graduate school.”  
  
“More school?”  
  
Sam didn’t need to see the disgusted look on Dean’s face. His voice was dripping with disdain.   
  
“God, Sam, aren’t you sick of it yet? You know, we could really use a little help now and then. Summers, maybe.”  
  
“Dean, I’m not coming back.”  
  
“I know you’re not now, but—”  
  
“I’m never coming back. You heard what Dad said.”  
  
“He was pissed, Sam, but I know he’d—”  
  
“I’m not coming back. I’m never hunting again.”  
  
“Sammy—”  
  
This was it. This was really it. At least he didn’t have to pretend to be angry. Dean’s blind loyalty to Dad and hunting hadn’t changed anymore than his assumption that Sam would come to his senses and come back to that fucked up life.   
  
“No. Not now. Not summers, not ever.” He pushed himself out from under Dean and sat up, leaning against the wall. “Dean, you’ve gotta listen to me.”  
  
His brother’s eyes were wary, watchful. “I’m hearing you just fine, Sam.”  
  
“I am done with hunting. This is my chance at a normal life and I’m taking it. And you,” he licked lips gone too fucking dry, “you’ve got to stop trying to drag me back into it by my dick.”  
  
And everything froze. Like he needed this minute to go on any longer than sixty seconds. But it seemed he was going to get to remember in every fucking detail exactly how closed and cold his brother’s face got.   
  
Dean didn’t say another word. He got up from the bed and dressed, pulling clothes out of the duffel he’d brought, rolling up the ones he’d ripped off earlier. Every movement was perfectly controlled. Sam felt about five seconds away from throwing up.   
  
Dean shrugged the duffel onto his shoulder and looked at him. Everything, his hands, his eyes, his jaw was perfectly still. He jerked his chin and gave a ghost of a smile. “Goodbye, Sam.”  
  
And he was gone.   
  
Really gone. And now Sam knew just how deep that connection went as he felt it come tearing out from his toenails.   
  
*  
 


	2. Chapter 2

**Stranded at the Drive-in**  
by merepersiflage  
  
**Part Two**  
  
Thank god the diner was only a half block farther because Dean was sick of Sam’s pouting. His brother was better at the research, so it wasn’t Dean’s fault he’d been stuck in the library all morning sneezing on dust as he looked up the town’s history while Dean just smiled and got the property records from a flirtatious town clerk. The woman had really kept her curves. He was gonna start taking an interest in older women. He’d heard they were—  
  
“Dean.” An elbow to the ribs probably wasn’t necessary, but based on Sam’s tone he’d called him more than once.   
  
“What?” And then the exasperation went away as he stared straight ahead. He noticed the t-shirt first. Vintage Sabbath, very nice. Stretched across a muscled chest. Thick blonde hair, a shorter than Sam’s, a little longer than his own. And hell, had he poured himself into those jeans? Slowly he realized that the guy’s looks were not exactly what had attracted Sam’s attention.   
  
Sabbath-t-shirt guy was hanging up a missing poster in the window of the bakery. A guy and a girl. And Dean’d put money down that it was one of the couples that had gone missing from the drive-in.   
  
He nodded at Sam, and they went in.  
  
There was another lie on his lips, another fake ID and a fake life and a fake job all waiting to be brought to life but when the stranger turned around, the only words that came out were: “Dude! Is that a vintage Monsters of Reality?"  
  
He could hear Sam splutter beside him and glanced over to see his brother’s mouth go slack. He arched a brow in question and turned back to the guy with the posters over his arm.   
  
The guy looked down at his chest, pride leaking out onto his handsome face. “Yeah, yeah it is.”  
  
“You have no idea how hard it is to find that print.”   
  
Sam was tensing beside him like he was ready to launch an attack at the guy. What was his problem? The guy was friendly enough. And it looked like they might have a decent lead.  
  
He felt Sam bump his arm and cleared his throat. “Oh yeah. Well, uh, dude, that’s a drag.” He pointed at the poster the guy was still smoothing out. “How’d you know them?”  
  
The guy stared at it as if he could see the faces through the back. “Oh, my cousin and her boyfriend. Just disappeared one night.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
He could feel Sam glaring at the back of his head. His brother was always ragging on him for the lame identities and now that they were getting info without lying he was going to piss and moan over it?   
  
“Yeah. They went out to that drive-in on Route 15 and just didn’t come back.”  
  
“They find their car?” There’d been no word of an abandoned car at the drive-in this morning. Maybe those guys really had just been off in the bushes getting their freak on.   
  
“Yeah. Still at the drive-in. Empty, no signs of struggle. The cops won’t even look for them. They say they just ran off.”  
  
“Any reason why they would? I mean, if they were running off, why leave the car, huh?”  
  
“You mean like a whole Romeo and Juliet thing? No, man. They were just dating. No big story.”  
  
“Huh.”   
  
The guy seemed to be waiting for something.   
  
“Uh, I’m Dean. And this is Sam.” Time to bust out the lies. Or something close to the truth. “We’re—uh—private investigators. We’re looking into another disappearance.”  
  
The guy’s light eyes barely flicked over Sam before coming back to rest on Dean.  
  
“James.” The guy’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Like Hetfield, you know?” He nodded at Dean’s Ride the Lightning t-shirt. “My parents—uh—met at a Metallica concert back in ’83.”  
  
“That’s totally cool, dude! Isn’t it, Sam? Man, I bet you’re glad they weren’t Black Sabbath fans, eh Ozzy?”  
  
James laughed; Sam cleared his throat, pointedly. The mood got all serious again. Dean wanted to roll his eyes at his brother, but he didn’t want to lose this lead.   
  
“So, James, have you heard anything about anyone else running into trouble like that? Just disappearing? I mean, it does seem kind of strange, quiet place like this.”  
  
“I heard something about two girls disappearing about a month back, but that I figured was more the drama thing if you know what I mean.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“You know, I really don’t know much. I live about thirty miles from here. I’m just trying to help find my cousin.”  
  
“Yeah, well, maybe we could give you a hand with that.” Dean indicated the posters draped over James’s arm.   
  
“Nah, s’cool. I got it. But you know, if you guys are looking for a little local color, you might want to come to Woody’s Bar tonight. It’s only about two miles from town.   
  
“Hey, sounds great. We’ll see you there.”  
  
“ ‘We’ll see you there’?” Sam barely waited until the door to the bakery had closed behind James before lighting into him. “What the hell are you doing, Dean? We’ve got to check out the drive-in.”  
  
“Yeah, but maybe we should hang with the locals, first, see what people are saying. So far we’ve got a pile of crap on the drive-in. Nothing on the property, nothing in the history.”  
  
“Bull shit.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Bull. Shit. You just want to hang with you new bud, mini-Dean.”  
  
“Jealous?”  
  
“Of you lusting after a prettier version of yourself?”  
  
“C’mon, Sam, prettier?” _Lusting?_ The guy had been really good-looking but he didn’t think—  
  
“I can’t believe you’d let it interfere with a job like this.”  
  
“It’s not interfering, it’s part of the job. James can introduce us to people, his family—”  
  
“Oh ‘cause the look on your face when you say his name is totally professional.”  
  
“Glad you agree.” Dean looked at his reflection in the door glass. “You really think he looked like me?”  
  
“Cocky? Bad hair? Short? Yeah, a lot like you.”  
  
“Heh.”  
  
His reflection wavered as Sam opened the door.   
  
“Hey, where’re ya goin’?”  
  
The rumble of a truck’s idle almost drowned out Sam’s words. “Lunch. I’m hungry.”  
  
“Sam, wait.” He pushed through the door. Fucking long legs, give Sam a three second head start and he was a block away, forcing Dean to an undignified scurry if he wanted to catch up. “What is your problem, man?”  
  
“I really think we need to be at the drive-in tonight. That’s where everything is happening.”   
  
“Where you wish things were happening.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“This. Your hissy fit is just left over from last night. This has nothing to do with the job. You’re still pissed because I wouldn’t play bait with you.” _Because if I let you get that close again and you leave me, there isn’t going to be enough left of me to scrape off the pavement._  
  
Sam made a dismissive sound in his throat. “I really think we’ve got a better chance of figuring this out if we’re where the people are going missing and not in some random bar so you can feed your ego.”  
  
“My ego? Whoa, dude, check your own.”  
  
The sun on the chrome of the old-fashioned diner was blinding, which is probably why Dean didn’t notice James standing in the doorway hanging his poster until he bumped right into him.   
  
James’s body was warm and hard against his and seemed to linger a little longer than was strictly necessary to regain his balance.   
  
Sam’s sigh had the force of a wind tunnel.  
  
“Hey, I was hoping to run into you guys again.”  
  
“Well, you did.” Dean figured his smile might make up for his brother’s attitude. A friendly local was too useful to piss off because Sam had a stick up his ass. “We were just having lunch. You want to join us?”   
  
“Yeah man, thanks.”  
  
They approached a booth behind the swinging hips of a waitress. For a second, Dean considered sliding in next to James, since he had the feeling this was going to be one of those lunches he remembered from about fifteen years ago, where his inside leg ended up a checkerboard of bruises from Sam pinching and kicking him, but he really wanted to be able to watch James’s face as he spoke. He didn’t want to miss any clues.   
  
Dean set his menu aside. Sam studied his as if it held a road map to Dad.  
  
“What’s good here?” Dean asked James.   
  
James gave a sad half smile. “I wouldn’t know. Like I said, I live about thirty miles away.”  
  
“But you know that bar.” Sam said, just raising his eyes over the top of the menu.   
  
“Everybody knows Woody’s.” James laughed. “Well, everybody in the tricounties, anyway.” The waitress took Dean’s and James’s burger orders: medium rare, onion and mustard. Sam’s voice was tight as he asked the waitress for a steak sandwich. Dean wanted to kick him to tell him to chill, but since he hadn’t been pinched yet, he didn’t want to start anything.   
  
“So why did you say you hoped to run into us?” Sam asked, no longer hiding behind the menu.   
  
Dean had definitely picked the wrong side of the booth. It was his brother’s face he needed to watch. Sam was going to blow this if he kept on being so antagonistic.   
  
“You guys are looking for Ross and Terry, aren’t you?”   
  
“Why do you say that?” Dean studied James. His face was open and honest, eager to help.  
  
“Their car was found at the drive-in, too, right?”  
  
“I thought you said—” Sam’s words broke off as Dean stomped on his foot. He’d risk the retaliation.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said.  
  
“You, uh, know the kind of movies they show there, right?”   
  
“We’ve been by it.” He kept up the pressure on Sam’s foot.  
  
“Well, it used to be a regular drive-in, then it stopped making money and the family that ran it just shut it down. It was just a field and a crumbling screen for years until someone started fixing it up.”  
  
James’s story fit with what Dean had dug up in the property records, the property had been foreclosed on for taxes seven years ago, a company called FunTimes had bought it just this year.   
  
“How do you know all this?” Sam said, despite Dean’s heel on his instep.   
  
“I know the guy who was hired to clean the place up.”  
  
“He have anything to say about the new owners?”  
  
“You know it’s weird. He never met’em. Someone hired Kevin over the phone, mailed him a check up front, paid the rest when the job was done.”   
  
“Huh.”   
  
The waitress slid their plates in front of them and Dean smiled up at her. “Thank you.”   
  
She smiled at them all, winked at him. “If you boys need anything else, you let me know.”   
  
“We will.” Sam’s dismissive tone went a long way to ruining any possibility of a reduced check. “So what about now?”  
  
James took a bite of his burger before answering Sam. “What?”  
  
“You know anyone who works there now?”  
  
“Nope, sorry, man. But, you know, Kevin, the guy who did the clean up? He’s always at Woody’s on a Friday, maybe he knows someone.” He took another bite and licked the mustard off his lips. “And the bartender? His family’s the one who used to own the drive-in.”   
  
Dean would have thought that any idiot could see that the next logical step was to go to that bar, but Sam was determined to strive for a whole new level of stubborn stupidity.   
  
As soon as James had dropped a ten on the table and left, Sam turned to Dean. “That guy’s a little too convenient, don’t you think?”  
  
“Convenient?” Dean got up and switched to the other side of the booth. “What the hell does that mean?”  
  
“I mean, he just pops up with the exact information we’re looking for.”  
  
“He wants to help. His cousin’s missing. What’s so mysterious about that?”  
  
“I still think we should go to the drive-in tonight.”   
  
“And I think we’ll get more out of going to the bar.”  
  
“Look. We just need to catch whatever it is and kill it. We don’t need a ton of background.”  
  
Dean stared at him. Sam never wanted to rush in without knowing absolutely everything. What the fuck was up with him?   
  
“What?” Sam asked.  
  
“You tell me. This isn’t like you, Sam. Don’t you think we should maybe have some idea of what we’re killing before we try and kill it?”  
  
“You never cared about that before.”  
  
“You wanna split up?”   
  
“No!”   
  
“Woody’s it is then.” Dean grinned. “Love the name.”  
  
  
  
If Dean had made a list of things guaranteed to annoy the everloving shit out of Sam he couldn’t have done a better job of it than he was doing right now. Sure James introduced them to Kevin, and Dean managed to get a few more bits of information from him: no one who worked at the drive-in knew the owner, and Kevin had done all the clean up but had been instructed to leave the projection house alone. What the hell good any of that was going to do Sam had no idea.  
  
But then James suggested pool and just as Sam was looking forward to kicking some serious ass with his brother, James placed himself on Dean’s team, leaving Sam with Kevin. It wasn’t that Kevin sucked, it was just that Dean and James were playing like they shared the same brain. No matter how hard Sam tried, James always managed to find a shot that Sam had left him. And watching Dean, his eyes alight with victory, that perfect smile never far from his lips, was like swallowing acid the way he kept turning those eyes and that smile on someone else.   
  
It was ridiculous to get this worked up over a pool game, but damn it. Those little nods and eye movements conveying secrets between them, that should have been for him. He and Dean had a lifetime of reading each other. No one should get that privilege on a two-beer acquaintance.   
  
Sam bent to grab the rack again, and Kevin waved him off. “I’ve got a job tomorrow, guys, sorry.”  
  
Dean barely seemed to notice that the guy he should have been pumping for more information was on his way out the door. James looked at the rack as Sam began to gather the balls. Half of his and Kevin’s were still on the table. The last had been a bad game, and he couldn’t blame it all on Kevin. He’d been distracted by the way Dean was looking. Looking at James.   
  
“You guys play,” James offered, “I’ll—”  
  
“No, you play. I’ll go talk to the bartender.” Sam said. Maybe the mention of the other source of information would jar Dean back into remembering that they were supposed to be working.   
  
“Oh, that guy, the one I told you about? That ain’t him. He must not have come in tonight.”  
  
“Fine. You guys play. I’ll—” _Just pretend to look stuff up._ “see if I can find anything else out.” He dug the stuff he’d copied at the library out of his bag. James laughed at something Dean said and Sam felt his cheeks get warmer. For a guy who was supposed to be upset about a missing cousin, he seemed pretty happy. Christ, he even laughed like Dean. It figured Dean would get the hots for someone who was almost a perfect copy of himself. Sometimes Sam was surprised Dean hadn’t just started fucking his mirror he was so damned convinced of his hotness.   
  
He moved the papers around. Either it was early for the folks in Greenbriar County or Woody’s was no where near as popular as James had made it out to be. The crowd was thin enough that he had no trouble watching Dean and James play pool and laugh as they argued over mullet-headed band members.   
  
“Are you kidding?” Dean’s voice got loud enough to hear. “Bonham over Ulrich?”  
  
“ ‘Communication Breakdown,’ ” James countered.  
  
Dean sent the cue ball gliding perfectly off the cushion to sink his ball and roll back for his next shot.   
  
“Over ‘The Call of Ktulu’? You’re nuts. And I win again.”  
  
Sam thought they might be here all night. Dean had found someone who challenged him at pool enough to keep him concentrating, but not good enough to beat him. Couldn’t Dean see how James was manipulating him? He caught James’s blue stare fixed on him. _That’s right, buddy. I’m onto your game. But I’ve had his dick in my mouth. I know what he sounds like when he comes, and if I have my way, you’re never going to know._  
  
James lowered his gaze, and Sam turned back to his papers. Maybe if he found something, he could convince Dean that they should head over to the drive-in, at least check out the projection building.   
  
“My round,” James said. “Can I get you another, Sam?”  
  
“I’m fine. Thanks.”  
  
“Sammy’s a lightweight.” Dean said to James as he passed him on the way to the bar.   
  
“Why do you always say that?” Sam asked through gritted teeth.   
  
“’Cause it’s always true.”  
  
“Just because I chose not to get drunk and act like an asshole doesn’t mean I can’t.  
  
“So why doncha?”  
  
“Because I don’t want to. Besides you’re acting like an asshole enough for both of us.”  
  
“I’m acting like an asshole. Hmph.” His brother shrugged, with his fucking lips. That stupid pursed lip thing he did that said _whatever, bitch_. “Hey, thanks, man.” James handed him a beer as he went by.   
  
James turned to offer Sam the one in his hand. “Sure you don’t want another?”  
  
“I’m fine,” he said firmly.  
  
James did almost the exact same annoying lip shrug thing before tipping the bottle to his mouth.   
  
Sam watched Dean watch James’s lips close around the neck of the bottle and felt his hands clench into fists. Anger and jealousy tied strangle knot hitches around his guts. And then Dean winked. He fucking winked. And it might have been at Sam, but it was probably at James, and Sam kind of thought held turn into one of those cartoon characters with steam coming out of his ears.  
  
He grabbed his now warm beer in a grip that almost broke the bottle.   
  
“So. James.” He bit the words off as they came out of his tight throat. “Your buddy coming in tonight or what?”  
  
James met his stare evenly. “No. He’s got the night off. He’ll be in tomorrow, though.”  
  
“Cool. Aw, man, we lost the pool table.”  
  
Sam looked up and realized the bar was now pretty crowded, but there was still empty space around the three of them. It certainly wasn’t because Dean was wearing his bad ass face tonight. Maybe the patrons were sickened by the smarmy grins passed back and forth between Dean and James.   
  
“Darts?” James suggested, pointing behind Sam’s head.  
  
“Awesome.”  
  
They walked right past him, James’s hip brushing his elbow, and Sam wished he could think of an excuse for an involuntary muscle spasm that would rack the sneaky bastard. Now Sam could either move around to the other side of the table so he could watch them, thereby drawing all kinds of attention to his observation, or he could let Dean continue to be duped by this conman without Sam to watch his back.   
  
He flipped the papers again, trying to wiggle his chair around the table without attracting too much notice.   
  
“What do you think, Sam?” James asked.  
  
Sam looked over his shoulder. Dean was collecting the darts as James waited.   
  
“AC/DC or Pink Floyd?” Dean said with exasperation, as if Sam should have been following every word of their lame conversation.   
  
“Uh. . .” Dean played a lot of AC/DC in the car, “. . .AC/DC.”  
  
Both Dean and James laughed as if Sam were the funniest thing on the planet.   
  
“Told ya.” Dean smacked James on the shoulder as they turned back to their darts game. “My brother’s a total geek. James thought you looked like you had some taste, Sammy.”  
  
Sam looked at James’s friendly open face with narrowed eyes. _Oh, I’ve tasted him all right, bastard. And I’m gonna again._ Sam knew, just fucking knew, Dean had told James they were brothers to keep that barrier between them. Made it impossible to grab him and kiss him so that James would know who Dean belonged to.  
  
“My round.” Dean thunked his empty on the table. “Don’t lose the dart board, man.”  
  
“I’ll guard it with my life.” James laughed.   
  
“You ready, Sam?” Dean paused next to him, leaning his arms on the table.   
  
His neck was stretched out close to Sam’s lips and Sam wanted to lean over and put his mark on that sweaty skin, taste it, bite it, bruise it until there was no doubt Dean was taken. When he felt his lips part in anticipation, he knew he had to leave. He looked away.   
  
“Yeah, I’m ready to go.”  
  
“Aw, c’mon, Sam, it’s—”  
  
“You can stay. It’s only a couple miles. I’ll walk. Try not to crash the car.”  
  
“Hey, I can give him a lift back.” James was way too close to Dean’s shoulder.   
  
“You don’t know where to.”  
  
“The Clover-Leaf, right? On 287?”  
  
Dean had told him where they were staying?   
  
“There you go, Sam. Take the car. James can gimme a lift.”  
  
“That’d better be all James gives you.” It was barely a murmur.   
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Nothing.” Sam stuffed the papers into his bag.   
  
“Something wrong, Sam?”  
  
“No. See you at the hotel.”  
  
  
  
Three hours and eighteen minutes later, Sam lay faking sleep when Dean staggered in. He bounced off the wall and burst out laughing.   
  
“Have fun?” Sam knew Dean was too drunk to hear the ice in his voice.   
  
“Oh, yeah.” Dean flopped on the other bed. “That was fun.”  
  
“Fun?” Sam couldn’t stop himself. He was off his bed and onto Dean’s pinning him onto the mattress.   
  
Dean looked up at him through bleary eyes. “Sam?”  
  
“No fun with other guys. Got me? He doesn’t get to have you.”   
  
“Sam.”  
  
“If I can’t have you back, I can’t watch that. I can’t. Not when I—” He bent down and kissed Dean, and told himself that all he could taste was beer. Not James. Dean kissed him back, a hard sloppy pressure, and Sam pushed him down deeper into the mattress with his hips, cupping his brother’s face with his hands. Dean’s arms came around his waist.   
  
“God, Dean, I tried.” He kissed him again, and Dean’s tongue scraped along his sending a burst of need sizzling down his spine. He gasped his desperation against Dean’s full lips. “I tried, but I couldn’t stop wanting this. Never stopped. Even when . . . ” He thought the words would choke him but he had to get them out. “Even when I kissed her, I could still feel you, taste you.” He fed off the beer and tequila coating Dean’s mouth, kisses growing more frantic, more reckless and it didn’t matter at all if Dean was trashed if it finally got him what—   
  
His brother’s hands slipped off his hips. “Dean?” He tapped his cheeks.   
  
His concern was met with heavy, even breathing.  
  
Oh, the fucker just did _not_ pass out on him.  
  
  
  
Dean was lots of things, but a morning person definitely wasn’t one of them. Which is why Sam lay stunned when he pushed up from sleep to hear Dean singing—fucking singing—Pink Floyd in the shower on a morning when he should have been moaning and clutching his head with a kick ass hangover. If his escaping the hangover he so righteously deserved wasn’t bad enough, he was fucking cheerful. Dean was never cheerful at eight in the morning, and it made Sam sick to know that it certainly wasn’t that drunken kiss and Sam’s desperate confession that had put him in such a good mood. If it were, he’d already be using that mouth for something way better than singing.   
  
The shower and the singing shut off, and then the singing started up again. Dean was shaving now, before coffee. This was serious.   
  
There was a knock at the door, and that sick feeling just got nastier. He didn’t have to open the door to know it was fucking James, with his stupid smiling pretty face.   
  
“Sam?” Dean called from the bathroom.   
  
The knocking got louder.   
  
“Sam, you gonna get that?”  
  
Another thump.   
  
“What the hell, Sam?” Dean stomped out of the bathroom, wiping his face on a towel.   
  
Sam gave him his best glare.   
  
Dean wrestled to pull jeans over his still wet legs and threw the wet towel at him. “Jesus Christ, Sam what the fuck is wrong with you?”   
  
“I don’t know, maybe I was still asleep, asshole.” So they really weren’t going to talk about last night.   
  
Dean pulled open the door. And of course it was James, balancing a tray with three coffees.  
  
Dean’s tone improved dramatically. “Hey.”  
  
“I thought you might need a little hangover help.”   
  
Dean stepped aside and let James into their room. Which was wrong on so many levels Sam couldn’t even begin to sort it out.   
  
James set the tray on the table. “I got you a coffee, too, Sam. You seemed like the vanilla latte type.”   
  
Dean laughed. Sam wanted to beat the shit out of both of them.   
  
“Don’t you live pretty far away to be getting breakfast here?”  
  
“I was so wired I couldn’t sleep. Oh Sam, you should have seen it. Your brother and I cleaned up at the pool table. What’d we make? A hundred each?”   
  
“And another fifty on darts.” Dean added.   
  
“He’s a master.” James said, looking entirely too much like he wanted to lick Dean dry.   
  
Sam threw the towel back at his brother.   
  
“I guess the cash’ll come in handy for gas. Is that your car?” The awe in James’s voice was perfectly calculated to make Dean puff with pride.   
  
“Yeah, you wanna look?”  
  
“Fuck, yeah.”   
  
James headed back out of the door. Before Dean followed him he jerked his chin at Sam with an expression that might have meant, _so get dressed_ or _so get gone_. Sam decided on dressing, or at least pulling on a pair of jeans. He wasn’t going anywhere.   
  
He pushed the drape aside. Dean had popped the hood and the two of them were drooling over the Impala’s engine. He’d join them, but he knew he’d end up humiliated again, like with the AC/DC comment. He shuffled over to the table and lifted the lids on the coffees. Sam was tempted to drink the only black one, the only one Dean would drink, or at least dump it in the toilet. There was no telling what James might have doped his coffee with. He had to be doing something to Dean. Why else would his brother be taken in by that fake charm?   
  
They needed to check out the drive-in—particularly the projection house—this morning. Did Dean plan on taking James with them? James, who as far as Sam was concerned was their prime suspect?  
  
He stomped over to his laptop. There had to be something, something that could convince Dean that this guy was bad news. But he really couldn’t read the words that scrolled by, and even if he did, he knew there was nothing. Nothing except the drive-in to go on. They needed to get back there. He went back to the window to see if Dean was getting close to wrapping up this silly mooning over a fucking engine. James leaned into Dean murmuring something. Sam felt those high spots of color splash onto his cheeks. Then Dean threw back his head to laugh, and it was a fist to his gut.   
  
When was the last time he’d heard Dean laugh like that? Not since . . . not since long before he left for school. And this guy could make him roar like that? Tip his head so that his neck was open and vulnerable, so that the sun sparked bronze in his hair. James should not be the one that got to see that. Sam had been at his side forever—all right, not for the past few years—but the rest of his fucking life. James was here for one day and he got to be all up in Dean’s space like this? Dean never let people get close to him like that. Sam oughta know.  
  
James took advantage of Dean’s relaxation and leaned into him, pointing at some mechanical coil or gasket. And Dean fucking let him. Like he’d let him into their hotel room. Like he was letting him into this job.   
  
Dean reached up and grabbed the hood. Sam almost tripped over his feet trying to get back to his laptop before they came back in. He forced his eyes onto the screen.   
  
“Sorry, man, I let the coffee get cold.”   
  
“’S all right.”   
  
Sam heard Dean slurp at the coffee.   
  
“Hey, you want to get fresh? I found a great place for breakfast.”  
  
“Sounds great. Sam?”  
  
Oh. Like his opinion was really going to matter. If Sam said his fucking appendix had ruptured Dean would toss him the keys and go off with James anyway. Sam shut the lap top and went to find a shirt.   
  
When he got out to the car, James was in his seat. And he didn’t have enough trouble folding his legs into the car, now he had to make them fit in the back seat? Crammed back there, a perfect self-pitying pout forcing its way to his lips, Sam felt like he was all of sixteen goddamn years old again.   
  
Dean rocketed the car backward, sending Sam off balance—not that he’d managed to get comfortable anyway.   
  
“This place has great pancakes and waffles.” James said after instructing Dean to turn left onto the highway.   
  
“Pancakes, hmmm? Do they give you lots of syrup?” Dean met his eyes in the rear view mirror, and if he winked Sam was going to kill them all as he throttled his brother.   
  
“Yeah, I mean, it’s on the table. Couple different kinds.”  
  
“Yeah, well, Sammy’s got a sweet tooth.”  
  
“Fuck you.” There really wasn’t anything else to say. At least that time, he was the one who made Dean laugh like that.   
  
  
  
The singing in the car put Sam so far past the end of his rope he could feel it unraveling. If he’d been carrying a weapon, he’d have shot the tape deck and then the two of them. When the car stopped he almost knocked himself unconscious against his knee as he scrambled out.   
  
Sam knew his resentment and jealousy were making him act like a six year old, but embarrassed self-knowledge didn’t stop him from leaping to slide into the booth next to Dean before James could take his place again. Dean shot him a hard look; he hated being trapped on the inside, but Sam just didn’t care. He’d won that round.   
  
The booths were small, and Sam felt every inch of Dean pushing along side him. The contact made him remember how good it had felt last night to press into his heat, to have him kissing him, for just those few seconds before he’d slipped under. He wondered exactly how much of his confession Dean had heard—or remembered.   
  
Desire curled in his stomach until he felt a rhythmic pressure on his toe.   
  
He glared across the table at James. “That’s _my_ foot.”   
  
“Sorry.” But James looked anything but.   
  
The waitress slid three mugs of coffee onto the table.   
  
Anyone who spent even a half an hour around Dean would know that the words “oral fixation” had been invented to describe him. And Sam wondered exactly how much of it was unconscious and how much of it was deliberately calculated to make sure everyone noticed those gorgeous lips of his. Like now. Dean never put anything in his coffee, so there really wasn’t any need to stir it. And there certainly wasn’t any need to put that spoon in his mouth and suck it off like it was his favorite cock. Which should really only be Sam’s cock.   
  
James was fascinated by the show. He never even glanced at his menu as Dean just moved that spoon around and in and out. Just watching Dean out of the corner of his eye was enough to make Sam’s dick twitch. _It’s even better than you’re thinking, and just stop thinking about it, you sneaky bastard,_ he thought at James, and James looked at him for a second as if he’d heard him, a smile teasing the corners of a mouth that was almost as lush as Dean’s.  
  
Sam shifted his legs under the table, knowing there was no way to do so without kicking James. “Sorry.” He murmured, as insincerely as James had earlier.  
  
“Oh, I’m fine.” James’s lips curved more deeply.   
  
When their food came, James and Sam both reached for the syrup bottle at the same time.   
  
“You were first,” James said, an acknowledgement of something else hanging in the air. “I can wait.”  
  
So Sam got the syrup, and a nice bit of nausea churning his belly to go with it. Even his neck started to ache from all the tension he felt around James. Feeling those blue eyes on him, he poured the syrup over his pancakes, forgoing his usual delight in pouring a high thin stream to mix with the bubbly melted butter on top.   
  
Dean didn’t offer anymore comments about Sam’s love of syrup, just kept playing with the bowl of the spoon, letting it pop in and out of his mouth with a wet sound that wreaked havoc with Sam’s determination to stay focused only on the need to get James out of their lives.   
  
James was saturating every single crevice of his waffle with syrup.   
  
“So your missing cousin?” Sam stabbed at his pancakes.  
  
James looked at him with those damned guileless blue eyes. “Yeah, you guys find out anything?”  
  
“Maybe we would if some _one_ \--” Sam jumped as his thigh suffered a vicious pinch.   
  
“We’re working on it.” Dean finally put down the spoon.   
  
James looked from him to Sam. “Gotta hit the can.” He slid out of the booth.   
  
Dean spun on him. “Dude, chill. What is up with you? You’re usually the one all sympathetic and makin’ the locals tell you their whole life story with one blink of your eyes.”  
  
Dean was right. Still a fucking asshole, damn that pinch had hurt, but right. Dean was usually the one to push everyone’s buttons and get them thrown out of town and scare off the witnesses—unless those witnesses happened to be blonde, blue-eyed flirts.   
  
“C’mon, Dean, can’t you see he’s . . .”  
  
“He’s what?” Dean stared at him. With his back to the window, his eyes were so dark a green as to almost look black. His expressive mouth was still.   
  
“He’s . . .” Sam tried again, flapping his hands. “Pissing me off.”  
  
“Yeah. I got that. Why?”  
  
_Why are you going to make me say it, damnit? Why won’t you just remember what I said last night?_  
  
“Aren’t your eggs getting cold, Dean?” James slid back into the booth and attacked his waffle.  
  
God, just the sound of his brother’s name in his voice made Sam want to punch him.   
  
James stuffed such a large piece of waffle in his mouth that syrup dribbled down his chin. Sam’s stomach tried to turn itself inside out at the sight of Dean leaning forward as if he would lick it off. James’s thick pink tongue came out and lapped it up. Sam shoved his plate away.   
  
“Don’t you like the food here, Sam?”   
  
“It’s fine.” And suddenly Sam knew just how to get everything back to the way it needed to be. “So listen, we’re dealing with a . . . predator that stalks couples getting . . . intimate at that drive-in.”  
  
“And you think we should find someone to be bait?”   
  
“Exactly.” Oh yeah. James was picking up his cue. “So tonight, Dean and I will be bait and—”  
  
James’s mouth dropped open. “Wait. Aren’t you two brothers?”   
  
“Heh. What Sam means is that one of us will keep watch while the other is bait.”  
  
“Oh.” James’s face broke into the kind of smile that on Dean always meant Sam was in big trouble. “So Dean and _I_ could do it. And you could keep watch, Sam.”  
  
“That kind of thing’s kind of dangerous,” Dean cautioned.   
  
“We wouldn’t want—” Sam started.   
  
“Yeah, but I really wanna help you nail this guy. After all, it’s my cousin that’s missing. You know, anything for blood.”   
  
Sam just managed to keep from puking his pancakes.   
  
  
  
  
“I can’t believe you’re going through with this.” Sam laid out some weapons on the bed.   
  
“Why not? It was your idea in the first place.”  
  
“Yeah, but—” He added the nightscope binoculars.   
  
“You wanted it to be you.”  
  
And there it was. Exactly the problem. And if Dean knew it, that could only mean—  
  
“You know, Sam, it’s just a better plan. You’ll be able to see before anything gets to us and—”  
  
“And?” Sam tried to catch his eyes as Dean sorted through the weapons.   
  
“And you know why.”  
  
“No. I don’t.”  
  
Dean picked up a shotgun and wiped it down. “I just don’t think it’s such a good idea.”  
  
“What?” Sam was giving up all pretense of paying attention to the weapons. He turned to stare at Dean, who was staring down the barrel of the gun.   
  
“Us playin’ bait.”  
  
“Why the hell not?” And it all came out—all that desperation and need in his voice.   
  
“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea for us to be that way with each other again.”  
  
“But why?”  
  
“I don’t know, Sam. What do you want from me?”  
  
“This.” Sam stepped forward and pulled the gun out of Dean’s hands. Dean offered no resistance as Sam lowered his head to kiss him. At first his lips were motionless but soft under his, then they parted just a fraction and Sam ran his tongue along the seam. He heard Dean’s breath catch and then Dean jerked away.   
  
“Damn it, Dean, why are you doing this?”  
  
“What if I just don’t want to?”  
  
“Is that what you’re saying?”  
  
Dean fled to the other side of the bed. “Can’t this just wait until this job is over?”  
  
“Wait until after you’ve fucked James, is that it?”  
  
“So that’s why this big push? You’re jealous? Don’t want to share your toy? Look, Sam, I get that you’re not happy with the way things are going here, but let’s just waste the bad guy and move on.”  
  
“Fine.” Sam grabbed his jacket.   
  
“Where’re you goin’?”  
  
“To have a look at the drive-in the daylight. I’m sure you’ll be busy getting ready for your date.” He knew it was stupid, but he still slammed the door shut behind him.   
  
  
It was the final fucking indignity to be crammed into James’s Civic for his stake out at the drive-in. His knees were practically at his ears in that thing. He’d gotten just the spot he’d scouted earlier, with a clear view of everything and Dean had parked where he’d suggested. All he had to do now was keep from going fucking crazy while he watched his brother and some guy he wasn’t completely convinced wasn’t mixed up in this make out in the Impala. If it got to be too bad, he supposed he could always watch the bad porn on the big screen.   
  
He focused the binoculars through the rear window. James was just about in the middle of the seat as he crept closer to Dean. His brother turned his head toward him and despite the jealousy ripping like acid through his insides, he had to admit, it was a fairly tame kiss. _That’s right. You don’t have to actually do anything to get this thing to come for you. You could just, oh fuck._ That kiss wasn’t tame at all. Sam’s hands tightened on the binoculars until he heard the plastic creak.   
  
Dean was pressing James backward, moving on him with the kind of eagerness that should have been his. Had been his. Until he’d—fucking hell, James had just ripped off Dean’s jacket and his hands were digging through Dean’s short hair. If James’s leg popped up over the back of the seat, Sam was going up there to cut it off. James was arching up now, or maybe Dean was falling back because they were headed back over to the driver’s side of the seat and Sam really couldn’t remember that he was supposed to be watching for something to come after them because he had to see exactly what this jackass thought he was going to get to do to his brother.   
  
James had him plastered against the door. And Sam was getting sicker all the time because it seemed James knew exactly how to push Dean’s buttons. He liked it hard, fast and messy, especially the first time. The nightvision on the binoculars was good enough to pick out the hunger in Dean’s face as he strained against James, the clash of their lips, even a quick dart of tongue, and with the fucking movie soundtrack, Sam didn’t need to imagine their moans.   
  
Sam heard a tearing crack, and the nightvision went away. His hands drifted apart. He looked down at the two pieces of binoculars in his hands.  
 


	3. Chapter 3

**Stranded at the Drive-in**  
by merepersiflage  
  
**Part Three**  
  
  
James climbed onto Dean’s lap, straddling him and pressing him back into the seat. The guy knew more than just eighties metal, Dean’d give him that, he knew how to kiss. James’s dick was thick and hard against his own. So Dean wasn’t the only one enjoying the kissing. Of course, knowing Sam was out there, watching James kiss him, when he’d been begging for it, knowing that made him so fucking hard he could barely think. And there _was_ something he was supposed to be thinking about. James. James’s blue eyes boring into his as his lips came closer and closer.  
  
And Dean was leaning, straining into that kiss as if he couldn’t stop himself, like just trying was as impossible as stopping an orgasm once he’d started shooting.   
  
But there was something he had to do. And why wasn’t Sam—those lips on his again, soft and full and god, James’s mouth on his had some kind of direct line to his dick. He could almost feel those lips parting around the head of his cock. He groaned and felt James smile into his mouth. There was that _something_ again, yeah, something trying to swim up through that right-the-fuck now need.   
  
James’s hands dealt with his belt and fly, never taking his lips off Dean’s. His tongue stroked inside Dean’s mouth, the sensation echoing inside him like some kind of bell chiming and that tongue inside his mouth was somehow on his dick, too, and if just kissing him was this good, god—but he had to remember—  
  
He jerked his head away. “I know.” He looked into James’s eyes. In the light from the screen they were an unearthly color, shifting silver and violet and blue.   
  
“Hmmm?” James’s hand was drawing his cock through his fly.   
  
“I know what—” fuckfuck _fuck_. His hand. Why was it so hot and wet? “What you are.”  
  
James smiled again, teeth gleaming in the dark of the car. “So?”  
  
His hand. So good. Like fucking. Perfect, slick, tight, like the best pussy he’d ever had. How?   
  
“Stop me, then.” James’s voice was full of laughter.   
  
He could. He had a . . .god, couldn’t he just come and then . . . where the hell was Sam?   
  
His hands dug into James’s shoulders as his hips bucked as James continued that liquid slide along his cock, harder, faster.   
  
“Tell you what. I really like you, Dean. You can have one for free.”   
  
Dean’s hands tightened. He could push him off. His fingers tensed.   
  
“I could feel you from the moment you came here. So full of all that need, locked down so tight. You were sparking like lightning in the middle of all that shiny lust.”  
  
“Sam—”   
  
“I think Sammy’s given up on you again. He couldn’t stick around and watch after all. Shame. Next to you he was the best prize to come through this month. After I’ve taken everything from you, I’d planned on sucking him dry.”  
  
_Sam._ Dean’s hand traveled down the side of James’s body, to his knee. His knife was in his boot. If he could just, and then then it was too late. God, way too late. His body wasn’t his anymore. Because James had done something to his cockhead that ripped an orgasm from him, made him pump all over James’s hand and he looked down because it seemed like he couldn’t shoot anymore but he did and it was just disappearing into James in the same gray-violet mist he’d seen in his eyes.   
  
Which was weird and dude, gross, but his heart kept pounding, and James kept on stroking though he didn’t have anything left and now it hurt, his dick too sensitive, but James’s fingers were pulling him back to an impossible hardness. Every pump of blood felt like fire stinging through his cock.   
  
“Now, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” James swung off his lap, licking his lips. “No more freebies, though, Dean.” He bent over Dean’s cock, lips parted. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t still be fun.”  
  
  
Sam screwed one eye shut and peered through one half of the binoculars. He’d gotten out to lean against the roof of the Civic, figuring that at a triple X drive-in, voyeurism would probably go unnoticed, or even be considered additional entertainment.  
  
Jealousy still dripped acid into his stomach, despite all his efforts to concentrate on this as a job. Dean certainly didn’t seem to be looking at it as a job. Or maybe he thought of it as a job with benefits. Either way, only the discipline Dad had drilled in him from birth kept him there, watching the disgusting show Dean and James were putting on. Watching the way James made Dean’s head arch back with pleasure.   
  
When James lowered his head toward Dean’s lap, Sam almost started to run up to the Impala. But the idea that if he screwed up the stake out he’d be subjected to watching this worse-than-bad-porn crap again held him up. But he couldn’t stand to see Dean’s face as James blew him. He’d just walk up by the projection house, see if he could spot anything odd. He’d be close enough if Dean needed him. And really it didn’t seem like Dean was going to need him at all. For anything.   
  
He stretched and took a few steps away from the Civic, and he must have put the makeshift telescope to his eye one last time, because he saw it as clearly as if he were in the car with them. A blue-violet light that wasn’t coming from the screen and Dean shoving at James, but it wasn’t James and Sam yanked the knife from his boot and sprinted for the Impala.   
  
Dean slammed James into the passenger door, but James’s skin seemed to be shifting and going all milky white. Sam jerked open the door and grabbed James’s head.   
  
“It’s him, Sammy. Finish him off.” Dean’s voice was hoarse.   
  
James’s hair was slick and almost liquid in his hands the skull beneath seemed to stretch under his fingers. He wrenched that lengthening neck back and drove the blade straight through.   
  
“Not in the car . . .”  
  
Sam was hauling him out as Dean groaned. But there wasn’t any blood, not even really a body. Whatever held James together was disintegrating, sliding into a cloying sticky mist that smelled a lot like—  
  
“Ew.” Dean’s nose wrinkled at the same time Sam’s did. There was spunk and then there was buckets of three day old nastiness.   
  
Dean came around to stand next to him. Sam scrubbed at the mist on his face with his shirt.   
  
“Dude. You reek. But thanks for saving the car.”   
  
Dean’s knife lay in the center of the empty clothes puddled on the sparse grass. Dean grabbed it back. “Fuck Bonham over Ulrich, you asshole!”  
  
“You had a knife on you.”  
  
“Of course, Sammy. And I had it in him. What the hell took you so long?”   
  
“What?”  
  
“He _was_ the bad guy, I thought you’d figured that. You know, incubus, sexual tension. Shit, couldn’t you feel it?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“An incubus, feeds off sex, did college eat all your brain cells?”   
  
“So why the fuck did you let it get this far? How could you let him touch you?”  
  
“Well, kind of because you were being an idiot. But I really expected you here before this.”  
  
“You could, you know, talk to me, tell me your plan.”   
  
“Fuck, Sam, you were so goddamed easy to read, and he’d have disappeared if he knew.”   
  
Sam pulled on the car door and Dean slammed it back out of his hands.   
  
“You’re not getting in my car.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Not in those clothes.”   
  
“Dean—”  
  
Dean neatly blocked the door.   
  
“Fine, asshole.” Sam ripped off his shirts. “Don’t even try to tell me some of what he _collected_ isn’t yours.”  
  
“Uhh—”  
  
“Because in case you forgot, I know exactly what your face looks like when you come.”  
  
Dean leaned into him. “Well, if you’d gotten here faster—”  
  
“How the hell was I supposed to know you weren’t just having a good time you kept pushing me away and then—”  
  
“Man, all those pep rallies really must have wiped your brain clean. We needed him to think he had me. And I needed to be—uh—full of what he was looking to feed off. And—”  
  
“And what?”  
  
Sam pushed back into him until Dean was flush against the frame of the car. Sam’s whole body jumped with one deep pulse of desire.   
  
“And . . .” Dean was looked dead in his eyes. “I needed you to be sure. If we go there again—”  
  
“Not _if_. We’re going there. Right. Now.”  
  
He bent and brushed his lips across Dean’s, their eyes still wide open and fixed on each other’s.   
  
“Please, Dean.” He breathed against his lips.   
  
Dean grabbed his arms, fingers deep and bruising in his biceps and spun them around until Sam was against the car.   
  
“Be sure, Sam.” Dean’s voice was a harsh whisper, coming from so low inside him Sam had to strain to hear him over the groans from the screen. “Be really sure.”  
  
“I am, Dean. I want this. Want you.”   
  
Dean’s hand dug between them, tugging on the waistband of his jeans. “Then get rid of these, too.” Dean’s mouth was right at his throat and if he arched his neck, but he didn’t need to because Dean was there, licking, nipping, kissing.   
  
“Okay, still gross. We gotta get you to a shower, dude.”  
  
He opened the door and slipped Sam’s jeans off his hips before opening the door and shoving him into the car. Dean’s mouth fastened on his and if he came up with another gross remark, Sam was going to knee him in the balls but Dean just kept kissing him, his mouth open for deep thrusts of Sam’s tongue.  
  
Dean’s weight came down on him and his tongue followed Sam’s back into his mouth stroking and sliding.   
  
Safe, home, secure, Dean. It was like everything just snapped back to the way it was supposed to be, like finding your footing after almost falling down stairs. His pulse jumped and a wave of dizzyness hit and then everything was all right. Perfect even.   
  
Dean’s hands slid down his sides, big warm rough palms, hard on his skin, the touch he’d been craving. He rocked up against him, and Dean moaned into his mouth.   
  
“Hotel.” Sam tore his mouth free. “Or we do it here.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Sam grabbed his ass and yanked their hips tight, grinding their cocks together.   
  
“You know goddamn well what.”  
  
Dean arched and gasped before diving back onto Sam’s mouth and kissing him until they were both panting.   
  
“You still need a shower, Sammy.” Dean said, recovering quickly enough to piss Sam off.   
  
The fact that Dean hadn’t automatically refused Sam’s suggestion left him fucking lightheaded as every ounce of blood rushed to pump through his cock.   
  
Dean crawled off him and back out of the car.   
  
“Don’t forget my clothes,” Sam called, still trying to breathe like he wasn’t outrunning a werewolf.   
  
“I think they’re a lost cause, Sammy.”  
  
“C’mon, Dean. You know how hard it is to find jeans that fit me.”  
  
“If you didn’t want’em so goddamned baggy . . .”  
  
But Dean bent over and dug through the pile of clothes with a smile. He had his Sammy back. He’d never have used James to make Sam jealous if he hadn’t been suspicious of him, but then it just seemed like the whole thing kind of took off from there. Dean rolled up Sam’s jeans, sneakers and shirts. Something caught his eye on the ground. James’s Monsters of Reality shirt. Demon or no, it was a really cool shirt and if Sammy was gonna try to wash that funky smell out of his clothes, why not this one? He stuffed it in the bundle and threw them all in the trunk.   
  
He came around to the driver’s side and found Sam behind the wheel in nothing but his boxers.   
  
“Shift, dude. I’m driving.”   
  
Sam looked up at him and then smiled before sliding across the seat. “Back to the hotel, maybe.”  
  
Dean caught the meaning and bit his tongue to keep from swallowing visibly. But his ass clenched involuntarily. After that drunken night, yeah and sober afternoon, he’d gotten over thinking it would hurt way too much, but still he was the big brother, and Sammy hadn’t exactly come up short in the dick department. The last time, Sammy had still been asking Dean to fuck _him_.   
  
“I’m driving.” He left it at that.  
  
He turned the engine over. “Hey. You think we could sell James’s car?”  
  
“If we want to get arrested. It probably belonged to one of his victims.”  
  
“Probably. Are you cold?”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“I bet only one in each of those couples was ever really missing. James just seduced’em and sucked’em dry.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Sam’s voice wasn’t as warm and seductive as it had been a minute ago. Bringing up James probably wasn’t really going to make for a fun evening—unless Sam got pissed off enough to forget himself. Forget himself until he was all desperate and needy and ready to do anything. That might be a little fun.   
  
Watching Sam from the corner of his eye he said, “So when’d you figure James was an incubus?”  
  
  
  
  
If no one bothered to peek through the curtains of the rooms on either side of room 26 of the Clover Leaf Motel at one A.M. that night, they really missed out, Dean thought. Because the sight of Sam’s long, sculpted torso, his impossibly long legs, arms, everything but the essentials under his boxers exposed to view as he stalked from the car to the room was a sight that anyone with eyes would be sorry to miss. And knowing that all that perfect length was a shower away from pressing against him until they came was enough to make Dean forget how to work the room key.   
  
“Need a little help with that?”  
  
“I got it.” Just because he was a sexy naked bastard didn’t mean he wasn’t also his dickheaded brother.   
  
Sam headed straight for the bathroom. The rush of water was instantly audible. Sam wasn’t wasting any time. Dean wouldn’t either. He grabbed a couple things and then kicked off his boots and started for the bathroom.  
  
“No,” Sam said as soon as he opened the door.   
  
“No?” He wasn’t changing his mind. He _couldn’t_ change his mind now.   
  
“I’ll be done in a minute. Just wait.”  
  
_Wait._ He wanted him to wait. It had taken hours to make the 15 mile drive from the drive-n. His dick had enough of waiting. He’d hoped that antagonizing Sam about James in the car would be enough to snap Sam’s control. Get them horizontal and naked so fast he didn’t have time to really think about this, didn’t have time to get all hung up about it again. He wished he’d had a few drinks in him tonight. That had certainly helped last time. And it wasn’t that it hadn’t hurt at all, just that it had been enough fun to make it worth it.   
  
“Dean.” Steam wrapped around his face as Sam jerked the curtain back. “It’s yours.” Sam toweled himself off as he came to the door.   
  
“Huh?” Dean was just supposed to walk by that and get in the shower alone, like those kisses hadn’t happened? Like he hadn’t spent the last two years dreaming about the way that deep cut groove over Sam’s hip made a perfect cradle for his dick?  
  
“The shower. Wash him off you.”  
  
“But I didn’t . . . oh.” Sam was towering over him. “Jeez, Sammy, when didja grow’em so big?”  
  
Sam just gave him a smile that made Dean’s own grin falter. “Shower. Hurry.”  
  
Dean dropped his pants and threw his shirt on the floor.   
  
He hadn’t taken a shower that fast since the last time he’d had Dad waiting, pounding on the door.   
  
Sam was waiting, towelless--everything-less on the bed. Dean hadn’t really thought this was ever going to happen again. Hadn’t really dared to look at Sam since he’d come back to him. Sam had gotten even bigger, the last few months scraping away any softness his time at college might have left him with. Wet, golden skin was stretched tight over muscles so clearly defined Dean might have been studying some kind of medical book. And fuck, had Sam’s dick been that long, curved that far up against his belly before? Shit. Dean’s ass clenched again and he took a deep breath.   
  
“What?” Sam gave him a half smile that titled his eyes even more.   
  
“Nothin’.”  
  
“You coming over here or do I have to come get you?”  
  
And Dean damned well knew Sam’d never been that aggressive, but fuck if it didn’t make his own dick extra-happy.  
  
Dean put his knee on the bed and started to crawl over Sam. He could get control of this situation again. Then Sam just popped his elbow and he went down on his bad shoulder and Sam was on him humid and hot from the shower. As good as a damp Sam felt, it was too much of a challenge to big-brotherness to let that go.   
  
He hooked his calf and rolled Sam under him, but Sam kicked free and they rolled back and forth, almost tumbling off the bed. They finally landed in the middle, both on their sides, breathless and laughing until Sam leaned in and kissed him.   
  
Dean’s lungs got tight, full of Sam’s breath and the smell of his shower fresh skin. Skin that stuck to his, linking them, binding them, and Dean didn’t do tender and deep, even with Sam.   
  
“So. We gonna fuck or what?”  
  
“Oh. We’re going to. You owe me. You don’t know how many times I wanted to fucking kill you in the last twenty-four hours.”  
  
“Oh I think I do, ‘cause if looks could kill, I’d’ve been hauntin’ your ass by now.”  
  
“Fine. Can you shut up now?”   
  
Sam leaned into him again, and Dean let him have control of the kiss. He supposed he did kind of owe him. He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to have to watch Sam flirt with a guy, Christ, make out with another guy.   
  
And then he wasn’t thinking about James or anybody but Sam and the way Sam’s tongue in his mouth was making his brain go all fuzzy.   
  
He arched toward him and Sam rolled him under, grinding their cocks together until Dean could feel the precome slick them both, feel the pressure of Sam’s ridge stroking his cockhead, smooth heat rubbing just right and then Sam’s hand slipped under his ass.   
  
“Uh.”   
  
Sam’s fingers rubbed under his balls.   
  
“I—uh—I’ve got lube.”  
  
Sam’s fingers stopped rubbing and he lifted his head.  
  
“Why exactly is that?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Why do you have lube?”   
  
Dean focused on Sam’s narrowed-eyed expression and felt all that tension slam back into him. Why was it suddenly bad that Dean was ready to go along with Sam’s plan?  
  
“Because I don’t always like to jerk off in the shower.”  
  
Sam kept looking at him, and yeah, it just couldn’t be easy, could it?  
  
“It feels good, all right? And wasn’t this all your idea anyway?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Dean shifted his hips and wriggled until he could reach the bottle he’d tucked under the pillow before he went to join Sam in the shower. He handed it to Sam.   
  
“Wet?” Sam smiled, and things got a little better. “That’s certainly descriptive.”  
  
“What, you’ve never seen it before?”  
  
“It’s never really—ah—come up before.”  
  
“Oh. Well . . .”  
  
“Yeah. I think I can figure it out.” Sam’s lips twisted and his voice got that dry amusement he seemed to have perfected at college. A little superior for Dean’s liking, and Sam used it too often.   
  
“Just—uh—go slow, all right?”  
  
“Dean. Remember. . .” Sam’s voice lost that amused tone. His face had that open-eyed raw look he got when he was hearing something he really didn’t want to hear but was determined to tough out. “Remember my first blow job and you said you’d—uh—done it before? Did someone make you, I mean—did someone hurt you?”  
  
“No.” And this was why sex was so much easier without the fuckin' _talking_. “Nothin’ like that. Never.”  
  
“But. But you always said, you said you didn’t want to, that I wouldn’t like it, that—”  
  
“I know.”   
  
Sam was on his side next to him and maybe if he just reached up and kissed him they could get back to the part where this might be fun but Sam just pulled his head back farther.   
  
“So what changed your mind?”  
  
Dean looked down to where Sam was rubbing lube on his fingers. The sight made him want to moan, and then Sam followed his gaze and did moan and Dean licked his lips.   
  
“Uh—” If he answered that honestly, he knew Sam was really gonna flip.  
  
“If you still really don’t want to, we don’t have to.”  
  
“It’s—” Sam’s fingers slid under his balls, easing lower, a gentle touch that was making him want a whole fucking lot more. “It’s fine. Stop treating me like this.”  
  
“Like what?” Sam’s finger teased around his hole.  
  
“Like some college girl you’re trying to talk out of her virginity." He couldn't stand the way Sam was going all soft on him. Couldn't do this if it was going to turn into some kind of fuckin' romantic scene. "Just fucking do it. Maybe James should've showed you how."  
  
Sam slammed a finger into him and Dean’s neck arched his head back into the headboard. God _damn_. He’d forgotten how much that fucking burned. Sam worked that finger in him, a quick, heavy friction and god, if that finger didn’t feel long and thick enough to double as a dick most of the general population would be happy with. Just when his muscles were starting to relax and those nerves stop burning and start to enjoy it, Sam went and shoved another finger in there and fucked him twice as hard.   
  
“That about right?” And that fucking superior tone was back.   
  
Dean really couldn’t say anything because Sam’s forearm was working like a fucking piston, and Dean’s teeth were clenched against the whimpers that were scurrying up the back of his throat. He managed to lick his lips and nod.   
  
Sam drove those freakishy long digits in him like he was going for gold in the finger fucking Olympics and then wrapped up all the medals when he bent and licked the head of Dean’s cock.   
  
“Unmph.”   
  
“I need to be in you. God, Dean, please tell me you’re ready.”  
  
If there was one thing Dean had learned in his, uh, two and a half night stand, it was that no amount of prep really got you ready for this. He had a feeling that no matter how many times they did this Sam’s cock was not going to be something he got used to, but he nodded.   
  
“Should I, ahh, use a condom?”   
  
“Why? You think you’re going to get me pregnant?”  
  
“Fuck you.”   
  
“I told you I was ready.” Dean winked.   
  
Sam slicked himself up, and Dean watched that thick dark head pop out from the circle of Sam’s fingers and it was hot if you didn’t think too hard about exactly where that was going next and how it was going to feel until things calmed down enough to enjoy the ride. Sam was knelt between his legs and lined himself up.   
  
“I think we need a pillow or something because or should we . . .”   
  
Dean lifted his legs onto his chest.   
  
“Oh. Is this . . .  
  
“Sam.”  
  
“Okay.”   
  
And there it was. He really didn’t remember the first-first time, way too much bourbon, but the first sober time, yeah. And no matter how slow or ready you just felt too full, too fucked, right on the edge of damn-it-get-it-out.  
  
He knew that was just the head, just barely inside him but God those muscles just weren’t made to stretch like that and he was going to have to tell him to stop and then he opened his eyes and saw Sam, saw him leaning over him, saw that look of concentration turn to one of awe, and his body opened just a little bit more.  
  
“God, Dean. I need. . .”  
  
“I know. Just push a little more . . .” he felt the muscles yield “now.”  
  
Sam shoved forward and Dean almost bit through his lip but they were there. He felt Sam’s balls bump up against his ass.   
  
“Please, Sam. Just. Don’t. Move.”  
  
Dean watched Sam’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly.   
  
“All right.”  
  
And then his eyes were so deep green, so intent on his and he could just feel Sam’s amazement shining in them.   
  
“Dean, I’m in you.”  
  
Leave it to Sammy to state the fucking obvious.   
  
“I noticed.”   
  
“It feels so good. God, you have no idea.” Sam was biting his lip now.   
  
“No, I wouldn’t. Despite numerous suggestions I’ve never fucked myself.”   
  
“Stop joking.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because . . . this . . .this matters to me, all right?”  
  
“Yeah.” And then the words came out before he could stop them. “It matters to me, too.”  
  
He watched Sam’s eyes get even darker, watched a bead of sweat roll just over his eyebrow to tangle in his still dripping bangs, breathed the clean sweat smell of them mixing with soap and shower and musk and need   
  
“Dean. For god’s sake, tell me I can move, god, please.”  
  
“Oh yeah. Go.”   
  
The first rocking thrust lit him up, ripped white hot along his nerves, but he arched up to meet him.   
  
“Jesus.”   
  
The delighted wonder in Sam’s voice was going to fucking break him. Another slow rolling thrust. Sam looking down at him like Dean held every Christmas and birthday present Sam’d ever wanted and never got in his eyes. And he couldn’t take it, the slow sweet sway of hips, the way he could feel his muscles cling to Sam’s cock everytime he lifted out of him, the way he could just taste them in the air, perfect, locked together. He shut his eyes.   
  
“C’mon, Sam. Fuck me.”  
  
And he did. God, he did. His hips picked up the pace, snapping forward, slamming that long cock inside him until Dean swore it was scraping his spine. Sam pressed in until Dean’s knees were almost in his ears, split him open, branded him with a physical possession to match the one he’d always had on Dean’s soul.   
  
Sam pulled out so far Dean could feel the ridge rub outside him then back down hard and fast. Now that stretch burned just right. And there was something to be said for higher education, because Dean would have sworn that Sam left for college a virgin and exactly where did he pick up that swivel thing he was doing that hit everything just right.   
  
“Hell yeah. Just like that, Sammy. God.”   
  
And he hit it again and Dean thought that shit about a prostate was just made up but, damn.   
  
“Holy fuck, Sam, are you sure you haven’t done this before?”  
  
If Sam hadn’t been rubbing right on that fucking electric bundle of nerves, Dean would have realized that was exactly the kind of thing to say to get him into serious trouble.   
  
Sam felt the shock of realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. He pulled back and slammed home again until Dean gasped and his eyes rolled white.   
  
“But _you_ have, haven’t you?” His anger burned away the shock. “You’ve been fucked before, haven’t you?” He drove into him faster and faster, Dean rising to meet him on every stroke. “’Cause you’re sure taking it like a pro.”  
  
“Damn it.” Dean finally said, and it wasn’t a denial.  
  
“Who? Jesus, Dean, all these years.” Sam had never wanted to use sex to punish anyone before, but the way Dean made him fucking insane with jealousy was enough to wish he’d make Dean scream with it. “All these years you kept telling me no.”   
  
“It was after,” Dean panted. “C’mon, Sammy, not now.”  
  
“After what, after I left and you kept coming out for a quickie now and then?” He stopped moving, even though his dick thought that was about the lamest idea ever.   
  
“No, after you threw me out of your life.”   
  
“I never—” And fuck, his dick overrrode his brain and he was thrusting again, mindless, everything gone but the need for a name. “Who?”  
  
Dean shook his head.   
  
“I know him?” And that was enough to make him falter. “Fuck. _Who_?”  
  
“Please, Sam. Don’t do this now. I need, god, I need to come.” He reached between them.   
  
Sam’s own balls were pretty firm on that point, too, but he wasn’t about to lose this leverage. He grabbed Dean’s hand and pinned it over his head, fucking him with deep, hard strokes.   
  
“Not till I get that name.”  
  
Dean bit his lip, and Sam leaned down to kiss him, bit it for him. “A name.” He growled against his mouth.   
  
He thought Dean would keep fighting him, but at last he screwed his eyes shut and whispered, “Caleb.”  
  
Again, Sam’s hips stopped on their own. “Dad’s friend Caleb?”  
  
“He’s closer to our age.”   
  
“Never leaves his garage collects weapons and weird shit Caleb?”  
  
“Yes, can I come now?”  
  
Sam didn’t know whether to be jealous or laugh. He’d never expected that. He straightened, grabbed Dean’s hips and picked up that rhythm that had been working so well until Dean opened his mouth. Dean’s ass clenched around him and that shoved everything else to the back of his mind. It was almost too tight, too hot, too perfect. And he could just do this forever if he didn’t need to come so fucking much.   
  
“God, yes, Sammy.”   
  
There was still enough lube on his fingers to help him glide over Dean’s dick as he wrapped his fist around it. The sounds coming from his brother’s throat weren’t even recognizable as Dean let alone English, but he didn’t think he wanted him to stop.  
  
It was hard to work out a rhythm of stroking and fucking and finally Dean knocked his hand away and took over which was fine with Sam because he really just wanted to get back to driving his dick into that hot, tight channel of muscle, to watching Dean’s face as each stroke made his head drop farther back on his neck, his lips open and breath pant out.   
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Sam, now, now.”  
  
Like Sam could have stopped, could have done anything to keep himself from pouring himself inside Dean as soon as he saw the first rope of come spurt onto Dean’s stomach. His hips just kept jerking as that orgasm boiled out of him, burning against his dick as he thrust in his own come. His arms were shaking and his fingers aching as they dug into Dean’s hips but he just couldn’t stop coming. Every time Dean’s muscles clenched around him he swore he shot another load until all his muscles gave out and he just collapsed in a sticky, sweaty heap on top of his brother.   
  
“Sam. Sam!”   
  
He lifted his head and made his eyes focus on Dean.   
  
“I know I’ve told you this before but you weigh a fucking ton.”  
  
“Sorry.” He rolled off.  
  
“And—ow.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Never mind. But for future reference, be a little careful pulling out.”   
  
Sam laughed as Dean rolled off the bed. “Where are you going?”   
  
“To take a shower.”  
  
Sam gave him a few minutes before deciding that no matter how sated his body was, he was just too sticky to fall asleep. He squeezed into the tub next to Dean.   
  
“Caleb?” He laughed, because while he could still feel that knot of jealousy deep inside, the incongruity of Dean and Caleb, Caleb for fuck’s sake, was pretty funny. “Does Dad know?”  
  
Dean shoved the soap into his stomach. “Yeah, like I always discuss my sex life with Dad, especially when it’s with a guy he knows.”  
  
“How did it happen?”  
  
“It was right after that time you threw me out.”  
  
Sam stifled the denial that sprang to his lips. He hadn’t exactly thrown him out.   
  
“Dad sent me to Caleb’s to pick up some reliquary and well, I was pissed and there was a lot of bourbon.” Dean shifted to let Sam have the spray.   
  
“And?”  
  
“And that’s all you’re getting.” Dean leaned against the shower wall.   
  
Sam couldn’t help smirking.   
  
“What? He’s a nice guy. And he’s not bad looking.”   
  
“I’ll bet anyone looks pretty hot after enough bourbon.”  
  
“Sam—”  
  
“Fine. It’s just he’s always seemed a little weird to me. Did he show you his special _collection_?” Sam raised his eyebrows.   
  
“How long are you going to rag me about this?”  
  
“Forever seems about right.”  
  
Dean pressed him against the shower wall and Sam shivered. “How ‘bout I rip your tongue out then?”  
  
“I think you’d miss it.”  
  
“Having you shut up might actually make up for a lack of blowjobs.  
  
Sam rounded his lips and licked them.   
  
“Or not.”  
  
When he dried off and headed back into the room, the lights were out and Dean was in the other bed. Sam rubbed the towel through his hair again. They hadn’t really talked about what renewing their physical relationship meant and Sam was wondering exactly where Dean expected him to sleep.   
  
“You gonna get the bathroom light and come to bed or stand there looking stupid all night?”  
  
Sam grinned and hit the switch.   
  
  
  
  
He woke up with Dean curled around him from behind, Dean’s hand warm where it splayed across his stomach. He was so going to rip on him for being a cuddler when he realized Dean’s hand was moving, lightly tracing the skin of his belly, tingling his nerves until he realized both Dean and his cock had been awake long before Sam’s brain caught on. There was enough of a crack in the drapes to see that it was still dark.   
  
“So.” Dean’s voice was as much a touch as a sound in his ear. “How much experimenting did you get up to in college?”  
  
“Not anything like someone showing me the place where he wanted to shove his relic.”  
  
“Think you’re funny, dontcha?”   
  
“Yup. And I think you’re hard.” He shoved back against Dean and found out he was right.   
  
“So. Gonna help me out with that?” Dean’s hand drifted from his belly to his hip.   
  
Sam felt trepidation tingle his skin in a whole different way. His dick remembered exactly how tight Dean had felt. Dean hadn’t said it hurt, exactly. He’d seemed to like it.   
  
“All right.”  
  
“Try to contain your enthusiasm, Sam.”  
  
He had a vivid memory of exactly how he had begged Dean to fuck him at sixteen. “Maybe you missed your chance.”   
  
Dean’s hand swept forward and lifted his half-hard cock. It swelled in his grasp and Dean pulled it until it was heavy and full of blood. “I don’t think so.”  
  
Dean licked the side of his neck as he stroked him. Sam’s head dropped back against Dean’s shoulder when his thumb swept over the crown, and Dean’s mouth fastened on the exposed skin, sucking it past his teeth until Sam felt the start of a whine fill the back of his throat.   
  
Jess had never figured out how much being bitten turned him on and he’d been too embarrassed to tell her. Until Dean bit and sucked that skin in. leaving a bruise that throbbed with the pulse of his cock, Sam hadn’t realized how much he missed it. Such a little thing, so stupid, but he’d missed it.   
  
Dean moved from his neck to his shoulder, leaving hard bites and wet kisses until Sam was bucking into his fist. Dean’s cock rubbed against his ass with each push of his hips and he forgot why that was supposed to be making him nervous until Dean grabbed his leg and hooked it over his thigh. Dean ran his hand over his hip, along his tight quad muscle.   
  
“Aren’t you going to say we don’t have to do this?”  
  
“I figured you’ve been asking for it for six fucking years. Change your mind?”  
  
Dean’s hand inched up his inner thigh.   
  
“No.”  
  
“Yeah, again with even less feeling.”  
  
Sam grabbed Dean’s hand and brought it to his throbbing cock. “Does it feel like I’m not interested?”  
  
“Interested in what?” Dean’s hand drifted away to tease his thigh again, and Sam could hear the smile in his voice.   
  
“Dean.”  
  
“You want it, you can ask for it. I mean, god knows you never had any trouble asking before.”  
  
“Why?” And then he knew. “Turns you on, doesn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah. So?”  
  
Sam hoped to hell Dean couldn’t feel the nervous swallow that flared his throat. Dean’s dick felt pretty fucking thick where it rubbed against the crease of his ass. He swallowed back a little more tension. If Dean could do it . . .  
  
“Fuck me.” And it came out a lot more belligerent than he meant.   
  
“Yeah.” Dean’s low purr rumbled in his ear and right down to his cock.   
  
Dean took his hand away, and Sam could hear him snapping open the bottle of lube. His throat got thick and uneasy again. He wasn’t too sure about this position. Despite the fact that Dean couldn’t see his face, he felt more exposed than he would have on his back. Maybe it was because he couldn’t see Dean. And he’d always thought the expression “fuck me sideways” was a figure of speech. He hooked his foot around Dean’s calf.  
  
Dean’s hand snaked between them, and his fingers painted the crack of his ass with cold wet moisture. It was getting harder to breathe. He’d wanted this for so long, so why the hell were his muscles picking this moment to lock up like a fucking vault.   
  
Dean purred again, which went along way toward making Sam’s blood get as thick as his breath, and then Dean’s mouth found a spot on the back of his neck and sucked hard, just as his finger made that first penetration into Sam’s body. It stung a little, but like the bite on his neck, the sting was lost in a hot rush of pleasure. He lifted his leg higher, arching into Dean’s fingers.   
  
Dean’s lips slipped up his neck to his ear, and he filled Sam’s ear with a low vibrating growl. Not a word, just the sound that said everything about how much he was loving fucking Sam with his finger. The lump in Sam’s throat was gone, leaving it open to panting moans.   
  
Another hard stinging stretch and Sam was riding new feelings, his body opening, rocking back into Dean. He didn’t really know what he’d expected, but it was an amazing amount of sensation, sizzling from his ass to every part of his body, driving him to thrust his dick into the empty air.   
  
He didn’t know how long Dean worked him like that, fingers curling and pressing, waking up nerves that had never gotten to play before, but it was too long, or maybe not long enough, and the fingers were gone, leaving him empty, waiting, hungry until they were replaced by a tearing pressure that made Sam flinch away.   
  
Dean groaned in his ear, and Sam tried to relax, but it just didn’t get any better. It throbbed and stung. It was too much, just too much and he waited but  
  
“Dean.”  
  
Dean’s hand rubbed along the top of his thigh, into the crease of his groin, but not anywhere it would do him any good, no where it would give him _something_ to take his mind off the fact that there was a huge cock trying to tear its way inside him.   
  
It might have helped if he could see him, kiss him, but there was nothing but that battering sense of penetration, of possession, and he might have wanted it since he was sixteen but the reality was a lot different than he’d imagined.   
  
“Dean,” he said again, and he knew he was pleading and if Dean got to call him a pussy because he could do this and Sam couldn’t then so be it because he really had to stop.   
  
“Just give it a minute, baby.”   
  
Dean had never used any kind of endearment with him before and half of him never wanted to hear that again and the rest of him was desperate to do anything that would let him hear Dean purr “baby” at him in that gravelly velvet voice forever and maybe, maybe—Dean slid in farther and oh yeah, maybe he _could_ do this.   
  
“Take a breath,” Dean urged.  
  
Sam let out the air he’d been holding. There was still that overwhelming sense of pressure but now it felt much better. In fact it felt good. He needed . . .”More.”  
  
“Are you sure?”   
  
Sam arched into him, trying to get what he needed.   
  
“Yes.”  
  
A fraction of motion. On their sides like this, it must be hard to get any momentum, but just that, just that little stroke scraped every nerve in an exquisite way.   
  
Dean’s voice licked his ear. “God, Sammy, so good.”  
  
And it was. And Dean bit down on his shoulder and Sam fucking knew that if there’d been anything but air on his dick he’d have come right there.   
  
“More.”   
  
“More what, Sammy?”  
  
“More, damn it. Fuck me harder.”  
  
Dean’s laugh rumbled in his ear as he shoved Sam over onto his stomach and thrust in. Sam bit his lip to keep from screaming as he realized Dean had only had a bit of his dick in him, now he was slamming in all the way, burying himself deep inside.   
  
“Shit.” He murmured and his throat felt raw. How did girls do this? How did Dean do it? Fuck, how did anyone do this? Let someone inside you, open your body like this and let him fill you until you could feel him everywhere. And then he couldn’t think about it, couldn’t think about anything because Dean was moving in him, hard deep thrusts.   
  
And then Dean shifted inside him and damn that felt—   
  
“Holy fucking shit. There.”   
  
His face was mashed into the pillow but Dean must have heard him because he did it again and again and Sam’s whole body, every fucking cell, every fucking atom was just singing. And then Dean bit the back of his neck and he came way too soon but he couldn’t stop it from ripping through him.  
  
Dean slammed into him until he thought they’d break the mattress, his hands gripping Sam’s biceps as he arched over him. A few more frantic thrusts and he filled him with a long hot splash that felt so perfect Sam would have come again if he could.   
  
It took a long time to finally become aware of the stickiness beneath him, the ache in his arms, the burn in his ass and by then Dean was rolling them to the side.   
  
Sam took a deep breath and said the first thing that popped into his mind. “Well, you were right.”  
  
“I was, huh? What about this time?”  
  
“I’d’ve freaked out if we did that when I first wanted to.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Heh.”   
  
He listened to his heart slow, Dean’s breath ruffling the hair around his ear.   
  
“Tired?” Dean asked.   
  
“Not really, why?”  
  
“Well, both the beds are trashed, I’m wide awake and the bad guy’s dust. What’dya say we hit the road?”  
  
“Dean.”  
  
He pushed away from his brother and sat up, muscles in unexpected places giving a little protest.   
  
“What? You wanna snuggle or something, ya big girl?”   
  
Sam shook his head. “You are such a freaking jerk.”   
  
Dean pursed his lips and winked. “Maybe, but this freaking jerk’s gonna beat you to the shower.” He was off the bed before Sam could move.  
 


End file.
